Murder Death Kill (feat. Esoteric)

Eso, what up son? you know how the fuck we do, motherfuckin Demigodz

Motherfuckin Army of the Pharoahs

It's murder death kill playboy, ain't no safeties on

These microphones, ain't no motherfuckin silencers for this shit

Cause when we hold 'em...

We let this shit go off right in they're fuckin face (let 'em know)

I'm always gettin a suntan on my gun hand cuz I keep the burner out

Ready to blaze scorchin lead at your fam

So when I give you a pound, it's really 4

Cuz the .45 defies gravity, liftin you off of the floor

Pick out your coffin decor maybe some marble and gold

And hope they write some nice words when they carvin your stone

"here lies a noble man who got brave stuck out his chest bone

Beef with Celph Titled now this grave is what he calls home"

Get your gall stone put in a jar in a lab

Even the coroner got sick and had to barf in a bag

Your boyfriend said you was a marvelous fag

And in drag thought you was God like the carpenter's dad

You said I wasn't rippin shit properly?

The magnitude of my gangsta is a motherfuckin scientific anomaly

With a strange collection of weapons I got a good assortment

Come close and ima cut you with a mercedes hood ornament

Yo, you talkin loud homeboy we never heard of you

Put your little record out, nobody never heard of you

Went to your city, and they said they never heard of you

So we usin motherfuckin "Bars of Death" to murder you

It's murder death kill

Or it's kill death murder

Celph push they wig back

ES push it back further

You comin out your face?

We handle beef to the bone marrow

No matter if it's Demigodz

Or Army of the Pharoahs

We beheadin your heroes steady and ready, we're Eddie Guerrero

Theoretically your chance of deadin me: zero

Give up your petty dinero, you better be at your pedigree

We medically and poetically my machete is ready

Me men don't need to coast the homie Celph keep the gat close packed so

Shove it down your throat, make you bite the iron, man like you jacked Ghost

Bars of death

Connected like money fresh off the press

An old carcass left in the fetal position no people listen

Record spinnin but the needle is skippin

I never needed permission in sayin I don't believe in religion

I believe we're deep in a lethal evil tradition

I believe in murkin enemies with precision feedin the fish intestines of defeated G's in my vision

Your styles infantile seek out a pediatrician

Or be another emcee missin on the evenin edition

Yea, DC, with the sinister track..