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Now I ain't gon' make this easy if you got health complications |
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Stick chords with my pitchfork, it's Hell's obligation |
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I'm like Ming the Merciless; when the bullets sting |
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they'll be hurtin less than the flames cause they'll be burnin flesh |
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Scorchin the hair off your scalps and faces |
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Now your crew looks like Onyx as leukemia patients~! |
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Too much lighter fluid'll do it, explode your whole chest |
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Leave you "Black on Both Sides" like we barbecuin Mos Def! |
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And I don't hate people by race color or creed |
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To put it simple, I'm just hatin every motherfuckin thing that breathes |
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And I'm so raw, I make everything in the freezer look well done |
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Celph Titled is hell son, psychopath with a welding fun (hehehe) |
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And we ain't holdin back, we holdin macs |
|
M-1, 12 gauge and a couple G-36 HK's |
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And they blaze, every round off; bullets fly |
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Hit your best man and shoot your bitch's wedding gown off~! |
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[Chorus: Celph Titled (Majik Most)] |
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WHO - the fuck wanna war with our crew |
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WHAT - the fuck y'all cats gonna do |
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WHEN - we start to fire the lead |
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WHERE - your thoughts rest inside of your head |
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Left fist, right fist, one gun, two gun |
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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) |
|
[Majik Most:] |
|
You're not a dunn, you're a white kid named Dan |
|
Tossed you and your fam through an industrial fan |
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It's Majik Most, everybody knows who I am |
|
German fans, SoundScan puttin money in my hand |
|
I'm the type to host a luncheon in a dungeon, maaan |
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And torture your grandma while I'm munchin, maaan |
|
I'll rip you out the picture like a dolphin Dolph Lundgren |
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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 C4, launch it off the seesaw |
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You never seen raw before I deattach your skull |
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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 |
|
Wit'cha body in the desert you won't be so fresh |
|
when vultures pick at your neck and have a picnic in your chest |
|
[Chorus] |
|
[Celph Titled:] |
|
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 |
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and gun parts, assorted explosives |
|
that take you out of your body, talkin to Jesus like Joseph |
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And I'll, split up your skull into fragments from the gat pressure |
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Cause you don't even look evil, you just a bad dresser (ha ha) |
|
When me and Majik Most shoot up and grip tecs |
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We shoot until your polyester shirt turn to fishnet! |
|
[Majik Most:] |
|
Yo, wanna know the difference? Yo just check this |
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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 |
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You think you're the Rainman? I'm reignin, like Raiden |
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Raisin my hands, shootin lightning bolts at your fam |
|
[Chorus] |
