Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Countdown Theory, artist - Celph Titled. Album song The Gatalog, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 15.10.2002
Record label: Demigodz Enterprises
Song language: English
The Countdown Theory |
It’s the collapse of the earth as you know it. |
Holdin' it down, Celph Titled |
In the same brigade with the universal Walkmen. |
Start the countdown… |
«10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2 murder 1 lyric at your door» --] Method Man |
Recommendation, hold somethin' heavy, prepare for combat |
Translation: Atomik niggas constantly stay blazin' |
Every syllable spit is accurate, holdin' down the immaculate position |
I call the shots, perform executive incisions |
Speak to my own outside of language barriers for my brethren |
The veteran who caught a piece of shrapnel from the Tower of Babel |
Praise God, respect is due, while I’m infectin' you |
Never spit rhymes in a cipher, I siphon blood from ya veins |
With the straw the broke the camel’s back, disrespect? |
Never that, off the map, chrome nine design specialist |
Leave deceased niggas with walkmans in their coffin blastin' my shit |
Infinite longevity, reconstruct my structure with dyslexic lepersey |
Malevolant ministries revealin' false prophecies, retrieved my past life |
They called me Yahweh, slit the throat of Leviathan, slain sideways |
Now I just made you a star, enjoy your fifteen minutes of fame |
No room for garbage fake five-percent MCs in this real terrain |
Drop your album on TDK, listen closely what our CD say |
You couldn’t put out one record if it was your life you had to pay |
I’m feelin' this joint, I hope you niggas is to |
Beef with one man in my crew therefore we strike back with the 7-S platoon |
(Uh-huh…) |
«10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2 murder 1 lyric at your door» --] Method Man |
The Spanish Prince, my mind’s convinced, dent all intelligence |
Those who breathe, freeze at the sight of elegance |
Cause static jolts similar to lightning bolts |
Slash clans of devilish cults, catch boostive energy (energize!) |
Deadly antidotes inflict a fatal remedy |
Walkmen triangulate to form a spiritual entity (are you feelin' me?) |
Nigga, my rugged data will cause your mind structure to shatter |
Memory banks has been erased, Celph, Storm and the Soldier |
All up in ya face, leavin' glowing footmarks throughout the underground |
No room for feeble minds and shook hearts |
Start the countdown, soldiers in the killing fields |
I hold up my shield to block immortal curses |
Spittin' verses, peep my verbal slang analogy |
To a dragon spittin' flames, while the others are being bothered |
By hungry pitbulls that drool when they look at you |
The 7th Squadron droppin' toxins in the place of oxygen, what! |
«10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2 murder 1 lyric at your door» --] Method Man |
Nova watchin' over your shoulder, roamin' through an open folder |
Slippin' through a paradox, mental coma |
Eternal Nightol, impact from a rhymin' wreckin' ball |
One on one street compete, complete |
Composition, physique physician, fight with might |
Strike precise with my device |
I ignite my vocal tenacity, define mankind |
Flux capacitate linear time, enigma, snake slither |
Extension across the Nile River, bless myself |
The Ark Angel — my fingers make contemporary poetry |
Historical, biographical oracle |
Open memories like new vicinities |
Fuck those who oppose me, I throw heat ferociously |
Cleverly expose the life that you live to the Walkmen |
Nomadic men, commit mad sin |
In the Vatican upon the day of Armageddon |
Tai Chi master, absorbin' the powers from the Seven |
Tectonic tremblin' witnessin' the wrath that you’re facin' |
Atomik devastation — strategically |
Organize elevation, the dynasy, mathematically |
Strong minds combine to redesign the fabric of time |
On some enormous shit, now watch the clock tick |