| You better lock up the Bacardi at your party when the Zone roll through
|
| In a fur coat that look like I killed the whole Bronx Zoo
|
| ASPCA is outside my house, picketin'
|
| Cause everything in my coat been previously livin'
|
| Hoes ask why I cut my braids off (Trippin')
|
| So I could look prep and pull Kate Moss bitches
|
| But I don’t make babies (No)…I make beats
|
| And got more juice than a hair salon in Compton in the late 80's
|
| Back on the muthafuckin' set, Zone pass me the Glock
|
| So I can blast and leave a hole the size of Flava Flav’s clock
|
| But either niggas hate or they jock, you pay 'till you’re broke
|
| We from the hood, where we beat our kids with cables and ropes
|
| Load them hammers in the car before I bust back
|
| Crash a bike in your face, and leave you with a handlebar mustache
|
| Celph Titled fell off? |
| What made you think that?
|
| I came here to downsize the game: no CD’s, just «shrink wrap»
|
| I used to bang groupies like your sister, but I quit it for sure
|
| «These girls are strictly for the money» «And your sister’s a whore!»
|
| Nowadays I diss hoes, wantin' Zone to get Olympic
|
| And strip clothes and broad jump with ten inches of limp dick
|
| But what about Zone and your mama?
|
| He threw his balls between her legs like he was playin' for the Globetrotters
|
| Thinkin' you rock? |
| Y’all gets nothin'
|
| Cause I talk trash, you collect it like Charles S. Dutton, muthafucka!
|
| Rude! |
| Crude! |
| Spoiled! |
| Rotten!
|
| J-Zone and Celph Titled ain’t nothin' but problems
|
| Throw eggs at your favorite MC
|
| Locate your face and then pee
|
| So if you don’t like us, you can hum these nuts
|
| We put foes in they place and then leave
|
| (scratched)
|
| «Rude…arrogant…entirely offensive»
|
| «Look out America, here we come!»
|
| I don’t care what Biggie said, I still dream of fuckin' Xscape
|
| That big girl could find out, just how my third leg tastes
|
| I like my pockets fat, and my bitches fatter
|
| Up until I was ten, I thought my name was just «Little Bastard» (You little
|
| bastard!)
|
| Niggas rap to pay they bills, but never got cash
|
| Catch you at the bar, I’m puttin' bullets through your shot glass
|
| Knock your muthafuckin' Pro Tools off sequence
|
| Y’all niggas is like Dr. Dre in '83: all sequins
|
| (Hey J, when’s your video gonna be on TV?)
|
| When the surveillance tape from KFC gets sent to BET
|
| (J, I need my nails done) What? |
| «Dumb broad»
|
| You’d have better luck at the White House, lookin' for a job
|
| With a Jheri curl and shower cap on
|
| Doin' a kid and play Kick Step with a crackhead on the front lawn
|
| In a «All Hail Saddam» T-shirt, holdin' two Glocks
|
| And C-Bo's Greatest Hits pumpin' from your boombox
|
| «Let's go… bump it, I know you hear me comin'»
|
| It’s time to oil up my jaw bone, and get ready for slick talk
|
| O.G. |
| swagger, that’s the way this here spic walk
|
| About to unleash a sleek metal hatchet (Why?)
|
| Cause y’all sound faker than Alicia Keys' ghetto accent (Oh)
|
| Get snapped in fragments and fed to lab rabbits
|
| All I got is my balls, guns, and bad habits
|
| Keep you paranoid, become a crabby sleeper
|
| Cause I got you sniffin' more «'caine» than Big Daddy’s retriever |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Spoiled Rotten, artist - Celph Titled. Album song The Gatalog, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп