| Yeah, I like this one, yeah
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| Yo, Celph, Apathy and Tino Vega, yo
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| Unnh hunh (Set it on him like that)
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| Tampa Florida, baby yeah
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| (Verse 1: Tino Vega)
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| Ay, yo, pass me a hat about these black ashes
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| Be out as fast as I can your man got bodied
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| In the back of a stolen Ac
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| By black trash baggers, what’s going on
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| Nowadays we got gay rappers
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| Singing our songs and hearing me wrong
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| Till they repping it strong baby, all day long
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| Cliques rapping about making moves
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| Playing it calm climbing up Jacobs ladder
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| See a mill and we on
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| What hold down fort, you thought wrong
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| Blood sport, loud in the place, I’m loud in your face
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| Sirens mad loud when they chase
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| Sick of them jakes, I want to put sticks in they steaks, yo
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| Walkman through sales, you caught attacking them stakes
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| Keep dropping the hot shit for the payers to hate, you know
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| So fell me, if not, I don’t care, throw your girls panties in the air
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| That’s how we on the keep, flaunting them drawers
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| We’re going to pawn them
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| Your man keep talking that spit, I’m going to dog him
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| Got dreams of marrying a Latin chick, a rapper bitch from Harlem
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| You can ask the surfer dudes and hippies if I’m awesome
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| Yo, back up off him this niggas too hot, run in your spot
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| Leaving with everything you got
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| Don’t believe me best not, put the stress on the dreadlocks
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| Niggas get props, lick 10 shots for hip hop
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| What, what? |
| Bring it on, you don’t want it, what
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| (Verse 2: Celph Titled)
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| Yo, unh, yo
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| I don’t get no iller than Celph Titled
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| For God sakes
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| We move in silence except for the sound
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| The Glock makes
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| Where I’m from, we never name names
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| We just be pointing infrared beams
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| And watch the barrel start to spit flames
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| Insane from birth, flip game with words
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| Inflict pain and it hurts
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| In actuality, I’m know astronomically
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| Leave a mother fucker split in half
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| I heard you talking this and that
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| We taking no shorts like church dress codes
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| I need a bitch that’ll stash my guns inside of casseroles
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| Test my gangster and the outcome is straight A’s
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| Bullet holes from AKs, wounds bleeding for eight days
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| It’s kind of fucked up how we some raw niggas
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| That’ll spit some hardcore shit over beats like this
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| I must be out my fucking mind without a doubt
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| My fam keep it gorilla with banana clips
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| We let the monkey out nigga
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| (Verse 3: Apathy)
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| Yeah, unh unh unh, what
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| Yeah, me and your girl will take a walk through the park
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| Late night in the dark, I’ll caress the back of her neck
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| Then rip out her heart, sharp mentality
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| Apathy grips gats, spits raps bitch slaps chicks back
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| I’m funky chewing tic tacs cause after I eat flesh
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| My breath smells like death
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| After I fuck chicks, their breath smells like sweat
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| I’ll lock it down, cock the pound
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| Be careful who you talk around
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| Cops found another mic to draw the white chalk around
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| And while you small cats are trying to bust off gats
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| I got to wreck it over records, so I dust off wax
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| Ap, Celph and Tino can slam it like we’re Tino Santana
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| From Tampa Bay to CT my gamma rays change my brain
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| Like Lou Ferrigno, I’ll spit flows to rip shows and get dough
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| I’ll stick hoes who lick dick until it blows
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| I’ll hit Foes the clip goes and gats, you’ll never test Ap
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| So just put away your raps, you’re wack |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Guerilla Orchestra, artist - Celph Titled. Album song The Gatalog, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп