| I got the force that could knock a Sumo wrestler down
|
| Professional sound that’s puttin’rappers flesh in the ground
|
| Scared of a candid-cameras for plantin’a bomb
|
| But takin’shots with mechanical cannons in my arm
|
| A verbal-tech battle mech ready to flex
|
| You step to me next you get metal machete’s to necks
|
| Then I slice jugular veins, crushin’your frame
|
| 'Till the pressure from the skull plates bustin’your brain
|
| I’m the type to spit and make you say «that's fuckin’insane»
|
| And when your not payin’attention, I’ll be touchin’your dame
|
| I could make your whole squads frames bust in to flames
|
| So why you speak on my name? |
| you got nothin’to gain
|
| Except two black eyes, a broke jaw, and a broke nose
|
| I hope foes know I got nothin’but dope flows
|
| I’m spittin’perfectly verbally
|
| Ap’s eternally as intricate as surgery or fixin’broken circuitry
|
| It’s like boom bap, fuck your rap
|
| You ain’t ready for Celph and you ain’t ready for Ap It goes boom bap, fuck your rap
|
| 'Cause you might get smacked with the back of the gat
|
| Yo everybody on the wall get the fuck out yo position
|
| And focus on the God with the raw power of six men
|
| Look me in the phone book, my math be unlisted
|
| Got top secret formulas with 7th wonders orbit systems
|
| You know the signature, the Celph titled literature
|
| Get intricate with flows and carry mechanisms to spit at cha
|
| Who want what? |
| I sell beats for G-notes
|
| Put three in your fleece coat and tie your neck to a ski-boat
|
| You know I make the heat disasterly spill
|
| And let the chrome sparkle like Master P’s grille
|
| Nigga’s say godammit he’s ill why ain’t he blow yet?
|
| I came before Christ, hip hop wasn’t even known yet
|
| The only time you catch me holdin’my tongue
|
| Is if I cut it off and gripped it and spit more linguistics
|
| Beyond long distance, dial the chrome for assistance
|
| And use my sharp looks to bag hundreds of bitches
|
| Self-pachino, you know the name from the beat down
|
| Amputate my arms and I still wont put the heat down
|
| This is prophecy, don’t make me repeat this
|
| Put a magnet to your data and leave your files deleted
|
| Motherfucker! |