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