| Yo, first I sprinkle a verse
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| By adding words, rhymes
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| Flippin 'em in to a verse with lines
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| Then ima hit 'em with spurts rhyme
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| Then ima let 'em and split 'em and add
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| Feelin my wrath
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| Vagrantly depart to the south so dirty
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| You want to be given a bath
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| Give it a pathelogical lie to deny that i’m nice
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| And the truth hurts (ow)
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| Wearin’a blue shirt the best buy for the price
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| Figure, Six guys this live and nice on the mic
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| So don’t dis us because we’re fly,
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| Until you try what it’s like
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| I’m liable to Slice at these emcee bastards
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| Leaving their knees fractured
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| Needing every peice of their teeth re-crafted
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| So don’t front 'cause I see past it You’re harmless like wolverines adamantium claws
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| Yhen they’re retracted
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| The scene’s backlit,
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| It seems static will wreack havoc
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| A beat battered, I’ll keep rappin'
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| In leech battle, will dreams shatter
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| In three nanoseconds (damn)
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| Count your patients, One step to Tonedeff
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| You’re gone in sixty seconds like (?)
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| I leave you riddled with basics
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| There’s no need for complexity
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| To be beside myself I need God next to me Just kiddin'
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| I’m patially bull shittin'
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| The only time I take a loss pussy’s
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| When I lose kittens
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| I pitch shit past 'ya, no matter who’s hittin
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| I don’t capsize boats,
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| But I got crews flippin'
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| You catch it? |
| the message needs analisation
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| Step and your boys will be pouring alcoholic libations
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| I flew sick, you knew this
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| I’ll puzzle you, doofus
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| Fuck mental
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| In the stretcher went to a physical (?)
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| It will take more than stick to rearrange it then change it His language is so strange, how do we contain it?
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| You can’t just paint this stuff up on a canvas
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| You have to get the mental picture
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| To begin to understand this
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| So, Anticipate defeat, the league chances
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| Got your head speared, no lances
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| Doing burial dances
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| I’m giving fourty like with speech imediments
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| Each other threat causes confident cats to stutter,
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| Step caught a reputation down the sides:
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| Too raw for porn, over thugs plates of leftovers
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| Eat some warm dober
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| Thug’s a jaded wordsmith,
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| Bleeding ghost writer’s pen’s dry
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| Get on other rapper’s nerves
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| Corroding dead, dryed sweat
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| My thoughts connect,
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| You ought to step away fast,
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| It seems I gave cats «hey that’s the way they make tracks»
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| Forget a scare, I’m not generous, kid
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| Split society of (?) and indented in (?)
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| Independently sick
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| And this is just a quick reminder
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| If you was to pick a cipher
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| Then I’ll bust you quick to write yours
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| All expenses paid, no questions asked
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| I’ll get open in the cut and we can flesh your gash
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| Cat, relax. |
| Man, the last time I took a breather
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| I got brought up on murder charges
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| Start the crooked finger
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| Yo, I’m not the fella to rifF with
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| I’m so nice Mr. Rogers sued my ass
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| For copyright infringement
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| Roll with henchemen,
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| Not, we’ll switch heads
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| From wanna be thugs to 24/7 bitch kids
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| I’ll bring my shitlist
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| Production cat bastards want jiggy beats
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| For some whack rappers
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| Switch my style if you’re tryin’to play,
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| My beats will maraud your ass any time of day
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| Like deuce Biggalow’s chick,
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| Whenever your through shit
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| People see you and holler «That's one huge bitch!»
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| Shit, when the lp rolls out
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| The source will be forced to make the «ables
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| A three page fold-out
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| No doubt, I’m fed up with this whack shit
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| Ballin the next gear, wearing abercrombie and fitch
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| Any Jiggy rapper acting fly on the radio
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| Is getting pulled out of rotation like a firestone radial
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| Catch the Tee, the hip hop scene I fathom
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| Let people know my windows belt keeps my jeans from sagging
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| It seems I’m raggin,
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| But feinds been naggin’for my next release
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| I apply all my expertise to make them extra pleased
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| Even get the breaks to peace that make a brother feel this
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| All I do is independent, like double helix
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| Selling out? |
| well I hope that you’re not
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| But how else could you afford all the soap that you drop?
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| You cant fuck wit me, yo, kid look
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| Taking me out aint no small feat, you aint bigfoot
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| You should know who the heck you’re facing
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| 'cause my reputation leaves no room for speculation
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| Now battle, is that you want to do?
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| What kind of man are you?
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| I bet you sit on (?)
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| Now that it’s proven to you
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| You got a lot to tell us,
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| Them got your heart skipping beats like accapellas
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| I’ll be a mythic author,
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| Writing poems on tombstones
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| Celph-titled and, nigga you couldn’t bring home
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| I’m at the crib wit your bitch givin’me slow head
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| Split you up in more peices than when Jesus broke bread
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| My click is raw, be prepared when you meet us Kill an unborn baby and you still couldn’t de-fetus (ooh)
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| I don’t battle with rhymes,
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| I’d rather battle with nines
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| Instead of using my mind
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| I’d rather shatter your spine
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| The closest you ever came to a punch line,
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| Was waiting for refreshments at the prom in '89
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| I’m super crafty, super nasty, super rhaspy
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| Fuckin’bitches with super asscheeks
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| You fucking faggots don’t know the wrong speeches
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| I beat a bitch untill her whole body turns to cleavage
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| I’m hyperactive so I drink decaffinated
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| My left jab is fatal, leave your cats decapitated! |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song 616 Rewind (feat. Tonedeff, Deacon the Villain, Sankofa, Kno & Kashal Tee) , by - Celph Titled. Song from the album The Gatalog: A Collection of Chaos, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп