Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Hold Something, artist - Celph Titled. Album song The Gatalog, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 15.10.2002
Record label: Demigodz Enterprises
Song language: English
Hold Something |
Yo there’s a diss, diss here |
Yo there’s a diss, diss there |
Here a diss, there a diss, everybody’s dissing me |
Yo I’m out of options |
The force of impact on local voices stays constant |
Build a massive anger and now I’m lost in |
Jealous of my high pitched vocals and rough delivery |
You’re sick of me |
Saddened by the fact we marked history |
The first amongst professionals, emerging from Junk Planet |
Planned in tropic states and then we start expanding |
I’m the dopest lyricist! |
17 and always stressed |
Cause my fucked-up outlook on life; |
I stay vexed |
I’m the best at what I do; |
I’m not a man you can defeat |
Here’s advice to all you cipher rivals, «yo talk is cheap» |
I delete assholes with abundance of animosity |
I’m still the dopest, even though you fucked up my sound quality |
An oddity, outcast, that’s straight from the normal |
Now who’s the piece of shit? |
Ya’ll are fucking stupid! |
You know it’s atomic when |
You can’t stop the rain |
Ravage bodies for segments and sediments |
Ain’t a damn thing changed |
My persona precise conducts riveting performances |
One hundred percentages |
Vision of succeeding is fictitious like unicorn’s with contact lenses |
What?! |
Most don’t know what |
Much of those freakin' are stisters staggering to sisters |
Stops their sisters stuttering and study my rhymes |
You can shake my hand, but use the other to count your blessings |
We be the three horsemen of this art form, odd numbers the essence |
Flashing automatic weapons is blasphemous |
You’d better hold something heavy |
When me and the soul kid klik combine the counter-reaction's unbelievable |
Thus inconceivable |
Yo G-Clef hold me back |
This ain’t your average gun clap rap |
From New York City, to TPA, and back |
Make sure you pick-up a brochure or pamphlet for info |
On how I single-handed turn drama MC hamlets in to omelets; |
Quite nicely, minus the spicy additive |
The saddest kids at a loss for adjectives to describe these whack shit passages |
(Wait a minute, wait a minute, cut this shit ay man, you got to get more hyped |
up than that) |
(Yo, I ain’t even feeling you Dutch) |
Ayo commence with the gibberish |
Face it, ain’t nobody hearing shit |
I think too much to be an imitating lyricist |
My experience lacking all qualities of stability |
C’mon ya’ll are killing me |
I rearrange identities and ride galactic centipedes |
More enemies to diss my ego (Nah Duke I’m just confident) |
Battling Demigods I exit out the Alpha Project |
Flying objects emit from the arms of order logic |
You are all now my hostage |
There is no escape from the carbon glass surrounding |
You’re trapped in your own bullshit ways of gettin' down kid |
Emotion filled bastard, battle scars I have none |
Lookin' towards the future makes me wanna purchase mad guns |
Stunned to the fact that I act like I don’t care |
But I’m not mad at the world, just everybody living here |
(Dutch, you still whack) |
Yo life’s a snitch, God forbid the bitch report me |
I practice witchcraft and sorcery, transcend velocities immortally |
Spittin' ammunition in all directions; |
I’m every man’s fear |
You could turn yourself invisible, but you still couldn’t stand clear |
I live in the flesh, only when I’m wearin' it |
Flow active and narrative |
Speak with many tongues leaving MC’s speechless Samaritans |
I get more applause than God at the Gospel Awards |
My acceptance speech was immortalized in stone tablets, before the Dinosaurs |
Beyond the limits that are humanly possible |
Ripping your hair out follicle by follicle |
Diabolical vandalist, fuck the graffiti artist |
I’m the Vampire calligraphist |
I’d rather tag your name with your cardiovascular excrements |
Motherfucker this is your last will and testament |
Celph Titled, sincerely yours, the man who exhales toxins |
Holdin' down the tropic states, we carry knives to cut our boxes |
Word life |
MC’s act like they can flow |
I know you faking Jacks cause you as hardcore as the Cosby Show |
(W-w-w-w-What's that?! That,) |
(TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES, YOU ARE ON HOLY GROUND!) |