| Now I ain’t gon' make this easy if you got health complications
|
| Stick chords with my pitchfork, it’s Hell’s obligation
|
| I’m like Ming the Merciless; |
| when the bullets sting
|
| They’ll be hurtin' less than the flames cause they’ll be burnin' flesh
|
| Scorchin' the hair off your scalps and faces
|
| Now your crew looks like Onyx as leukemia patients
|
| Too much lighter fluid’ll do it, explode your whole chest
|
| Leave you «Black on Both Sides» like we barbecuin' Mos Def!
|
| And I don’t hate people by race color or creed
|
| To put it simple, I’m just hatin' every motherfuckin' thing that breathes
|
| And I’m so raw, I make everything in the freezer look well done
|
| Celph Titled is hell son, psychopath with a welding gun
|
| And we ain’t holdin' back, we holdin' macs
|
| M-1, 12 gauge and a couple G-36 HK’s
|
| And they blaze, every round off; |
| bullets fly
|
| Hit your best man and shoot your bitch’s wedding gown off
|
| Who?! |
| — The fuck wanna war with our crew?
|
| What?! |
| — The fuck y’all cats gonna do?
|
| When! |
| — We start to fire the lead
|
| Where! |
| — Your thoughts rest inside of your head
|
| Left fist, right fist, one gun, two gun
|
| You just, fucked up, look what, you’ve done
|
| Left fist, right fist, one gun, two gun
|
| You just, fucked up, look what, you’ve done
|
| You’re not a dunn, you’re a white kid named Dan
|
| Tossed you and your fam through an industrial fan
|
| It’s Majik Most, now everybody knows who I am
|
| German fans, SoundScan puttin' money in my hand
|
| I’m the type to host a luncheon in a dungeon, man
|
| And torture your grandma while I’m munchin', man
|
| I’ll rip you out the picture like a dolphin Dolph Lundgren
|
| I’ll battle you, your crew, your gay-ass cousin
|
| My name buzzin' on the streets? |
| Nah, that’s my chainsaw
|
| Wrap your head in C-4, launch it off the seesaw
|
| You never seen raw before, I deattach your skull
|
| Now you look like Skeletor with a positive AIDS test
|
| Stressed out, you get punched in your mouth
|
| Punt heads up North, and they land down South
|
| With your body in the desert you won’t be so fresh
|
| When vultures pick at your neck and have a picnic in your chest
|
| Who?! |
| — The fuck wanna war with our crew?
|
| What?! |
| — The fuck y’all cats gonna do?
|
| When! |
| — We start to fire the lead
|
| Where! |
| — Your thoughts rest inside of your head
|
| Left fist, right fist, one gun, two gun
|
| You just, fucked up, look what, you’ve done
|
| Left fist, right fist, one gun, two gun
|
| You just, fucked up, look what, you’ve done
|
| Yeah, yo
|
| Now, let’s get it straight nigga the name’s Celph Titled
|
| Don’t just hold weight, this man right here hold chrome plates
|
| And gun parts, assorted explosives
|
| That take you out of your body, talkin' to Jesus like Joseph
|
| And I’ll split up your skull into fragments from the gat pressure
|
| Cause you don’t even look evil, you just a bad dresser
|
| When me and Majik Most shoot up and grip tecs
|
| We shoot until your polyester shirt turn to fishnet!
|
| Yo, wanna know the difference? |
| Yo, just check this
|
| I’m a star in a stretch limo, you know my steez
|
| You at the bus terminal with a terminal disease
|
| I crush your egg chest, leave your face faceless
|
| Neck brace and abrasions, your face in the pavement
|
| You’ll be pavin' the way, for Teethless Entertainment
|
| You think you’re the Rainman? |
| I’m reignin', like Raiden
|
| Raisin' my hands, shootin' lightning bolts at your fam
|
| Who?! |
| — The fuck wanna war with our crew?
|
| What?! |
| — The fuck y’all cats gonna do?
|
| When! |
| — We start to fire the lead
|
| Where! |
| — Your thoughts rest inside of your head
|
| Left fist, right fist, one gun, two gun
|
| You just, fucked up, look what, you’ve done
|
| Left fist, right fist, one gun, two gun
|
| You just, fucked up, look what, you’ve done |