| ''And this is the way''
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| ''We rock that''
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| Abandon ship, Esoteric’s at the landing strip
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| Plan to rip your clan to bits, you standing stiff like you inanimate
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| The jam I spit, analysts in such a panic with
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| They try to cancel it and sample it till this there’s a better way of
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| understanding it
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| I know you cannot handle it
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| I’m on some fancy shit while your crib is candle lit
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| But still the candidate, quick to dismantle your manuscript
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| You think you scare me with banana clips? |
| Well there’s no chance of it
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| My no control vocals, roll over your patrol
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| I’m poking holes in heads like I’m making totem poles
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| We’re the chosen souls (Demigodz rep to the death)
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| So sucker step to the left, I’m eating all my older goals
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| Reading holy scrolls like I’m reading yesterday’s news
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| On the funny strip, come and rip, test Shay and lose
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| Yo I’m ripping cats total son, you best stay in 2s
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| Cause my split personality is slaying y’all crews
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| Celph Titled’s on some real insane sick shit
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| Cut the president’s face off and rob a motherfucking bank with it
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| I sleep with a machete motherfucker I got guns too
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| That’ll put holes in your torso big enough to jump through
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| We don’t recite rap verses, instead we spit grenades
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| Can’t write a rhyme without some fucked up shit to say
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| When I question you, I won’t speak proper I’ll ask you
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| Fuck a meat cleaver, we got heaters and mac millies, act silly?
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| And witness the flame of the cannon blast
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| Recycle your calcium and use your scar tissue to wipe my ass
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| Send in recruits and I’m turning special forces
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| Into nothing but skeletons rocking berets and burnt musket blades
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| In Hell’s Kitchen we keep the shells spitting
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| Don’t think its strange, we use our block as a shooting range
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| Highway to Heaven or the Devil’s crossing
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| I got explosives that’ll make your body land in Michael Landon’s coffin
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| ''And this is the way''
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| Call me Dick-Scott Heron, or heroine
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| The dope crew veteran, y’all think that you’re better than
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| Y’all niggas better lay low
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| I flip MCs like bricks of yayo
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| Y’all from Montreal you get your brain exposed
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| Brook-nam time bomb, watch me explode
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| Extra magazines, watch me reload
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| I gotta spit bar code, but niggas can’t scan me
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| Rap with no legs, so niggas can’t stand me
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| I got more tools than Stanley
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| Your Peppermint Patty flows, nothing but candy, y’all sweet
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| And weak and your fucking up my teeth 'cause you’re all I eat
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| Reverend Run with guns, but I don’t preach
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| Bust TECs get wet like sex on a beach
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| Call me a Robin Leach, I want blood money
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| I smoke MCs like the gummies, y’all ain’t gully
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| My nigga Apathy running up in your baby’s mothers
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| I’m fucking your sisters, duck taping your brothers
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| Cause them fools didn’t believe, we wasn’t brother we other
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| Got styles for life, y’all Lifestyle rubbers
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| I got a metal magnum like I’m Megatron, metamorph to a weapon
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| Whipping bitches if they stepping, I’m ripping tissue to bloody messes
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| I’m missing some vital pieces inside of my cerebellum
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| Building adrenaline 'til I’m trembling
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| And tripling my physical mass to clash with crews
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| I blast fast and smash fags, I’m bad news
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| I’ll bruise brains and rapidly rip apart your anatomy
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| 'Cause Apathy is fatter than a Phat Farm faculty
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| Ap’s known for spitting, plus shots I’m licking
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| Got more biscuits then Kentucky Fried Chicken
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| Been chilling with thugs, that’ll fill you with slugs
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| Since you was pushing Hot Wheels across your living room rugs
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| I’m a Demigod, God damn it, God please forgive me
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| God bless, but God forbid kids try to spit for me
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| I fuck you up spiritually, mentally and physically
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| Father please forgive wack MCs tryna rap with me |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Way of the Gun (feat. Esoteric, Lord Digga & Apathy) , by - Celph Titled. Song from the album The Gatalog: A Collection of Chaos, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп