Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Hold Something , by - Celph Titled. Song from the album The Gatalog, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 15.10.2002
Record label: Demigodz Enterprises
Song language: English
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Hold Something , by - Celph Titled. Song from the album The Gatalog, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопHold 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!) |