Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Primo's Four Course Meal, artist - Celph Titled. Album song The Gatalog: A Collection of Chaos, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 22.10.2002
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Demigodz Enterprises
Song language: English
Primo's Four Course Meal |
Stand back ya heard sir, a murder’s occured |
My verbs are disturbed |
My curse words are hurtin you herbs |
Alertin the service bringin marines with kerosene flasks |
guns and masks jumpin through glass with SIG 229's and mp5's |
I rapid fire bustin sprayment |
When I was a baby my pacifier was a grenade pin |
And yes I’m from tampa |
No I’m not a buccaneer but I’ll be buckin near your |
main arteries ya fuckin queer |
The sun is here |
Cover your eyes |
All my attributes is dangerous |
My moustache is murderous |
My hipbone’ll send your clique home with they ribs |
blown back and they wigs sewn to they six pack |
Cartilage in a gift wrap |
My cartridges click clack |
And leave you and your bitch clapped |
Now ya bitch ass need a neck brace with a chin strap |
We swing machetes at crews with little ice picks and |
niggas round my way call me the cuban missile crisis |
My raps not for emo kids |
My flame thrower leave you bald head like chemo kids |
I ain’t a gangsta and a gentleman |
I’m one of the two |
Don’t open doors for bitches |
So which one do you choose? |
Playboy make you steak sauce |
A-1 you gay soft |
Not travolta but *whats in my holster* take your face off |
We got the cake off |
My money stacks make the rubber bands snap |
My number runners gettin bundled with no goverment tags |
Ain’t no 20/80 split better give me half |
Or you can get your jaw split |
Either or with C4 galore heaters pour |
Got the fever for some thick skeezers and a need for whores |
She got a apple bum so what the fuck we need bonita for |
Rappers try to pull my cards I gave em a shuffle |
Guttamouf took their bodies so I gave him a shovel |
Runnin ten laps in a second |
When I’m rappin on records |
Came in the game in '98 and I’m already a legend |
Back in the day me and dutchmassive schemin just to get in |
Now we slingin wax from 813 to the Kremlin |
Hook line and sinker |
My hooks and lines’ll sink you leagues under the sea |
Up my sleeves up under the fleece |
No tricks just a loaded piece |
Chrome heat |
Put you in a coma sleep |
With a combover to cope with holes in ya cheek |
And I don’t care if you worship |
I’ll put a bullet in your temple |
Leave you bent and crippled |
Wife and kids get sentimental |
Ya best soldiers incomparable to my b-team |
Fuck nas mission impossible be my thief’s theme |
Each beam I aim multiplied by 8 |
You gettin fucked on ya album and gettin raped on mixed tapes |
I kick with a flipped face targetin system |
Heat vision like the predator |
I’m slaugterin victims |
The harder I hit em |
Nigga the better they know |
Call up the reverend and we bringin holy shit to ya show |
These holy clips leave you holy split |
Every ho I hit get baptized in holy water comin out the hole in my dick |
I stay holdin my dick |
You thought I wasn’t one of them |
Spittin phlegm on bibles in gods crib right in front of him |
I’m iceberg but not slim |
More like this hyper shit that sunk the titanic |
That irreversible damage |
There’s no recovery possible |
No nurses no hospitals no stuffed bears and get well cards |
Just celph spittin hells bars |
You grew up on a farm with the amish gettin they goats from |
I’m from the dirty south but I’m clean so call me soap scum |
I’ll sell the same shit twice |
Double dip it and reup |
I ain’t married to this rap game |
We ain’t signin a prenup |
You up late watchin raunchy cable |
And I’m a creep behind your couch and crack ya motherfuckin |
skull on the coffee table |