Lyrics Blao! - Celph Titled

Blao!

You’re lookin' at the rookie rapper
With a years biggest itcha rows
Yeah this nigga switch his flows
Yeah I dig and switch his hoes
Hear them niggas snitch to po’s
Where a nigga pitch his blow
And how my hustle gross is near that nigga Richard Po’s
I share my figures with the hoes
I’m where the digger stitch his clothes
It’s ghetto F.A.B.O.L.O.U.S
I got street legend, fame
I’m the kid known to put the Colt to a bredren’s frame
Like he’s Edgerrin James
Y’all stash guns I carry 'em on my waist
Ya part time piece
Aquarium interface
The hood rat Hugh Heff, loungin' on ya in the Rolls
The project Playmates, around the corner centerfolds
I’m constant hated
Listen to the nonsense stated
But niggas can’t shit on me like they constipated
I briefly conversated
These doors sittin' on ten times two
Mami what’s so complicated?
Ya heard?
Blao!
Explosion, game on lock
Hotness, drop this, it’s that sick hip hop
It’s like blao!
I’m a coast to coast G, keep the toaster closely
So duck deez motherfucker
Blao!
Said it before, ready for war
With my sawed off shotgun, hand on the pump, pump
Blao!
Slap my gat, I ain’t hear to talk
You wanna make it gutter I can throw you off the sidewalk
It’s like Karl, Pac and Biggie is the greatest to rhyme
Problem is, this list only exists in my mind
So instead
I listen to your style and keep laughin'
You beatin' me rappin', that’s like Jim Abbott clappin'
That’ll never happen, I’m sicker of course
Then droppin' a dime
Like Shawn Kemp’s child support
Look at all you kids, underground and straight shook
You ain’t gettin' signed like nerdy kids yearbooks
I’m gettin' second looks but the industry is shitty
Cause I’d rather die than ever sound like Chingy
Right Thurr
Come on dawg
You ain’t gettin' robbed
Cause it’s uneven, like Dru Hill on a seesaw
Yo, you don’t want any bad blood in-between us
Like we’re standing right next to Magic Johnson’s intravenous
It’s Hot Karl and Celph so if you wanted a hit
You can peep the famous guys and fast forward our shit
Blao!
Explosion, game on lock
Hotness, drop this, it’s that sick hip hop
It’s like blao!
I’m a coast to coast G, keep the toaster closely
So duck deez motherfucker
Blao!
Said it before, ready for war
With my sawed off shotgun, hand on the pump, pump
Blao!
Slam my gat, I ain’t hear to talk
You wanna make it gutter I can throw you off the sidewalk
They say cause I don’t believe in Christ that I’m misled
Been shot at twice but never hit I just miss lead
Get it right, the name’s Celph Titled
Straight out of motherfuckin' Tampa
Leavin' enough gun smoke to give you lung cancer
Plans for your album?
It’s best if you lose those
Shoot up your M.P.C.
and you gonna find a few loop holes
We sellin' bullet wounds, havin' a wholesale
Leavin' complex patterns all in your head so you know braille
And so frail rappers, y’all ain’t Dance With Wolves
Just swimmin' with sharks, when the hammer get’s pulled
Any witnesses?
Who’s tellin'?
Nobody
The perfect crime, no autopsy, and no body
Without a neck you can’t rock that chain
No way for air to get to your brain
Another murder for this Cuban to claim
An inconsiderate asshole pissin' on you
What else you expect?
That’s what a dickhead do
Blao!
Explosion, game on lock
Hotness, drop this, it’s that sick hip hop
It’s like blao!
I’m a coast to coast G, keep the toaster closely
So duck deez motherfucker
Blao!
Said it before, ready for war
With my sawed off shotgun, hand on the pump, pump
Blao!
Slam my gat, I ain’t hear to talk
You wanna make it gutter I can throw you off the sidewalk
Yo Doc, pee on your floor
I’mma be on the whore
Till she knocked out, then I take a G out her drawer
I’m a thief, on the streets you might be in the morgue
Doin' a chicken of course, I take a key out a Porsche-ah
Box 'em in claustrophobic
I’m a pro y’all, know this
When sensing y’all controllers
Grown men is talkin'
This the fast lane, move over to the margin
It’s over when I walk in
«Doctor» on my license plate
The front of my truck resembles Mike Tyson face
When I pull up to the club, the buildin' shake
Hoes start runnin' out
Niggas start runnin' mouth
I’mma bolt the door and security the area
Got!
We molt floors to secure the Dillinger
Yo Doc!
You want war, I’ll be sure to bury ya
The more the merrier, but your
Blao!