It's time to get wrapped up in my convo
Pyrotec master, that's cause I'm the bomb though (yes)
Off the coast of Costa Rica with two loaded heaters (man)
A gangster bitch named Shareefa smoking loads of reefer (damn)
Play Miami bass loud you'll have broken speakers
Play me you'll catch a seizure or an open-heart procedure boy
Matter fact I got a habit that due to my habitat
I'm pretty good at rapping raps about making clappers clap
But that's besides the point man
You can call my bat phone but your wack poems ain't part of my voice plan
My waist band the size of asteroid belts
Bitches on my Young Joc without Bad Boy's help
I've been proclaimed propane
My flow game went from eh okay to goddamn that boy's cocaine
I keep the toast close, see me and you better shoot
I love my nine like Busta Rhymes used to love them leather suits
This is the motherfucking Celph Titled Show
Don't touch that dial, we gonna be here for a while
Demigodz in the house with my man Buckwild
This is the motherfucking Celph Titled Show
Don't touch that dial, we gonna be here for a while
Demigodz in the house with my man Buckwild
Forget everybody that did it, everybody that's done it
Everybody that said they's gonna do it but fronted
I did the math and homeboy it gets ridiculous
I'm Three Times Dope like the kids from Acknickulous
St. Nicholas bags of dough
Ebenezer Scrooge attitude towards hoes
Rearrange bones to a Soloflex torso
I got more flows than a hundred Rakim clones wearing Rakim's clothes
At award shows by the boatloads
But they ain't the god, the R
I used to pray to God I'd rap like the R
But I like how I are, my favourite rappers by far is me
Eso, B, and Apathy, the D-e-m-i-g-o-d-z for sheezy my neezys
Manufacturing deadly pathogens packaging the ziti
(Who's he?) Celph Titled's who the fuck I be
Werewolf show my teeth over Buckwild beats
I'm the dark lord of the dark lore
It's a suicide fuck boy and I ain't talking about a car door (hell no)
I get hardcore, yeah far more
Shoot you with a rocket, hit you from a hundred yards or more
The homing missiles is closing in
Hard rappers that pose in Timbs get turned to the Olson twins
I take your closest friend, throw 'em in a vulture den
And toss them in a box with swords from Shoguns poking in
(Damn) take no shorts, we flame torch
Your face is scorched, yeah my mixtape take the blame for it
Bait and tackle when I aim it at you
Your bitch wanted nuts in her face so I gave the stupid ho' cashews
My rhymes will outlast you
I know you're soft, you're a pussy in a cat suit
Blow, I'mma blast you
Permanently tattooed, swing an axe to
Split a soloist into a thirty-member rap group
