Cookin’ Keys Army of the Pharaohs

[Verse 1: Doap Nixon]
I’m in the kitchen cooking up bananas
Cameras on the roofs with the police scanners
By any means I’ma get these papers
Ride with a nigga or catch these vapors
Smooth melodic, cool water with butters on
Got beef with a nigga, save that for another song
Paz on point so he putting his brothers on
Steeze still the same, get you murked by a gutter jawn
Head in the streets cause the whip is spacious
Benz stretched out legs feel like a spaceship
Checks ain’t clear, I’m hitting y’all with the facts
If the check never came I’d hit your mom in the cap
Got the streets on smash, kilos on wax
Hundred pack on iTunes trying to make cream back
Yeah, the key’s cooked and the bricks is stove-top
It’s Chef Boyardee flipping nicks on your whole block

[Verse 2: Des Devious]
Yeah, born in the coldest winter, live and I die a sinner
And while I’m here I’m hustling, get paper with my niggas
Last of a dying breed, Pharaoh clique in your section
Before I leave my rest, kiss my Wess, load my weapon
Yeah that’s my right hand man, that fifty cal chrome
Off-safety when I roam, I ain’t never alone
Won’t catch a nigga slipping, won’t catch a nigga dipping
Cause I done mastered my high, you out your mind tripping
Yeah you can come and try, won’t be the smartest move
My bitch’ll pull the hammer and make it do what it do
Hustler, a son of one, bitch I’m a son of one
My money done got right, copped me another gun