Intro
(Verse 1: Guttamouf)
Yeah, haha, we a’int nothing buta psychotic mother f*ckers in here
I’m a equal opportunity cap buster
White, black, Spanish, it don’t matter
Sixteen make you cough up your gall bladder
Even if you a b*tch, it means no different
It doesn’t matter if you wear bullet resistant
I smack mother f*ckers and leave barrel imprints
I represent the mentally unstable
Who usually end up dead or in jail
While you get your coffin, I get lunch with Lucifer
Had breakfast with the grim reaper
Treat your body to a led diet
If you don’t shut the f*ck up and be quiet
I’m God’s gift to your mother f*cking photo
Spit on your photo, sh*t on your promo
With me running around, get a bullet proof do-rag
Portable IV and a mother f*cking sh*t bag
(Chorus: Celph Titled)
Pull out the heat, it’s about to get dirty
No more rap sh*t, just heavy artillery
We the type of n*ggas that’s quick to blow your mug off
Serving mother f*ckers beat downs with extra thug sauce
Pull out the heat, it’s about to get dirty
No more rap sh*t, just heavy artillery
We the type of n*ggas that’s quick to blow your mug off
Serving mother f*ckers beat downs with extra thug sauce
(Verse 2: Majik Most)
Ay yo, I’m coming to your city and I’ll probably be
Rolling with a posse that will eat a homeless woman’s pus*y
While playing Pavarotti they’ll be fishing your body
Out of Lake Erie in Michigan
With a Michelin tire wrapped around your midsection
I’m stepping on your corpse with a quart of your blood
All over my corduroys
While I bring the noise and, strict nine and poisons
Yeah, the type of sh*t I spit will leave you hollow in side
So mother f*ck rap cats who can’t get live
I’m kicking hardcore lyrics till the age of 85
Until I retire, I’m only getting nicer
I’ll slam your f*cking face down on a deli slicer
You’re crazy shook, rocking a Kevlar vest
A bullet took your head off and left a little piece of your neck
I need respect, I’m taking sh*t higher
Make you firearm backfire and light your arm on fire
You stupid b*tch
(Chorus: Celph Titled)
Pull out the heat, it’s about to get dirty
No more rap sh*t, just heavy artillery
We the type of n*ggas that’s quick to blow your mug off
Serving mother f*ckers beat downs with extra thug sauce
Pull out the heat, it’s about to get dirty
No more rap sh*t, just heavy artillery
We the type of n*ggas that’s quick to blow your mug off
Serving mother f*ckers beat downs with extra thug sauce
(Verse 3: Celph Titled)
Watch how I run through your clique
And straight kill every homeboy
Y’all n*ggas softer than the Pillsbury doughboy
f*cking faggot, you eat di*k nuggets and love it
Watching a Richard Simmons tape
And jack off after you dub it
Celph Titled is known to leave heads severally bleeding
And keep crack heads on my block fiending
If your rhymes are poisonous, I’ll make you eat your words
My gun talk money, imagine all the heat you could earn
Record a joint with me featuring you getting beat the f*ck up
In a sound booth with a busted mics in front of your f*cking wife
Rocking prosthetic limbs, your crew copped the boot leg
Call the police, you all shook daddy, n*gga we two feds
Ain’t another spic realer than me
I give a f*ck about hip hop, I’m just in it for cheese
And if this music don’t work, I’ll just find another hustle
You probably hate me for saying that sh*t so I say f*ck you
I kick rhymes on mad records just cause I can
You wish to spit bars on vinyl, but you’ll never have fans
By the time you get a chance to have your first single out
My discography is countless with six figure amounts
The God Celph Titled, contested by no one
n*ggas want to bring it, you can catch me at a show, dun
f*ck that, son who, gun you
Look what I done to, young crews that tried to come through
n*ggas owe me loot, they turn up like rafts and canoes
I’m laughing at dude for thinking he as raw as my crew
From the NY boroughs and alleys to Hillsborough County
My name ring bells like free phone sex rallies
The Rubix Cuban, unsolvable
Shoot out the voice box of emcees and leave them inaudible
An entrepreneur, your crew rocking my line of body bags
In the Chrome Depot, we got shopping bags full of gats
(Chorus: Celph Titled)
Pull out the heat, it’s about to get dirty
No more rap sh*t, just heavy artillery
We the type of n*ggas that’s quick to blow your mug off
Serving mother f*ckers beat downs with extra thug sauce
Pull out the heat, it’s about to get dirty
No more rap sh*t, just heavy artillery
We the type of n*ggas that’s quick to blow your mug off
Serving mother f*ckers beat downs with extra thug sauce