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Celph Titled – Primo’s Four Course Meal

Celph Titled – Primo’s Four Course Meal

From Celph Titled’s massive 75+ track album:

“The Gatalog: A Collection of Chaos”

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  1. Celph Titled

    The Rubix Cuban
    The Landmine Lieutenant
    Granddaddy Grenade
    The Ammunition Magician
    Sammy The Sleezebag
    Benjamin Shanklin
    Frosty The Snow Thug
    The Cuban Missile Crises
    The AK-47 Specialist
    Doctor Of Destruction
    The Mothafuckin' Mothafucka
    OJ Pimpton
    Wade Hogs
    Reverend Get-Right, The Pastor of Pimpin'

  2. [Intro]
    Heheheheheh
    Celph Titled the motherfuckin' landmine lieutenant
    Back up in this biznatch fo' sho' tho'
    Sammy The Sleezebag, what's good, pimptation?
    I'm 'bout to show you what happen to MC's that can rhyme
    I'm right here, we ain't go no motherfuckin' where
    We gon' do it like this
    Check it, yeah, yo

    [Verse 1]
    Stand back you heard, sir, murders occur
    My verbs are disturbed, my curse words are hurtin' you herbs
    Alertin' the service, bringin' marines with kerosene flasks
    Guns and masks
    Jumpin' through glass with sig 229's and mp5's
    I rapid fire bustin' spray men
    When I was a baby my pacifier was a grenade pin
    And yes, I'm from Tampa, no I'm not a Buccaneer
    But I'll be buckin near your main arteries ya fuckin queer
    The sun is here, cover your eyes
    All my attributes is dangerous
    My mustache is murderous
    My hip bone will send your clique home
    With they ribs blown back and they wigs sewn to they six pack
    Cartilage in a gift wrap
    My cartridge's click-clack and leave you and your bitch clapped
    Now your bitch ass need a neck brace with a chin strap
    We swing machetes at crews with little ice picks
    And niggas 'round my way call me the Cuban Missile Crisis

    [Verse 2]
    My raps' not for emo kids
    My flamethrower leave you bald head like chemo kids
    I ain't a gangsta and a gentleman, I'm one of the two
    Don't open doors for bitches, so which one would you choose?
    Playboy, make you steak sauce, A1, you gay soft
    Not Travolta, but what's in my holster take your Face Off
    We about to cake off, my money stacks make the rubber band snap
    My number runners gettin' bundles with no government tax
    Ain't no 20-80 split
    Better give me half or you can get your jaw split
    Courtesy of Vinnie Paz
    A.O.T.P. or D.E
    M.I.G.O.D.Z
    Either/or with C4, galore, the heaters pour
    I got the fever for some thick skeezers and a need for whores
    She got an Applebum, so what the fuck we need Bonita for?
    Rappers try to pull my cards I gave 'em a shuffle
    Guttermouth took they bodies, so I gave him a shovel

    [Verse 3]
    Runnin' ten laps in a second when I'm rappin' on records
    Came in the game in '98 and I'm already a legend
    Back in the day me and Dutchmassive schemin' just to get in
    Now we slingin' wax from 8-1-3 to the Kremlin
    Hook line and sinker, my hooks and lines will sink you leagues under the sea
    Up my sleeves up under the fleece
    No tricks, just a loaded piece, chrome heat
    Put you in a coma sleep with a comb over to cope with holes in ya cheek
    And I don't care if you worship
    I'll put a bullet in your temple
    Leave you bent and crippled, wife and kids get sentimental
    Ya best soldiers incomparable to my b-team
    Fuck Nas mission impossible be my Thief's Theme
    Each beam I aim multiplied by eight
    You gettin' fucked on your album and gettin raped on mixed tapes
    Sidekick with a flipped face and targetin' system
    Heat vision like the Predator, I'm slaughterin' victims

    [Verse 4]
    The harder I hit 'em, nigga, the better they know
    Call up the reverend and we bringin' holy shit to your show
    These holy clips leave you wholly split and every ho that I hit
    Get baptized in holy water comin' out the hole in my dick
    I stay holdin' my dick, you thought I wasn't one of them
    Spittin' phlegm on Bibles in God's crib right in front of Him
    I'm Iceberg, but not Slim
    More like the type of shit that sunk the Titanic
    Done irreversible damage
    There's no recovery possible, no nurses, no hospitals
    No stuffed bears and get well cards, just Celph spittin' Hell's bars
    You grew up on a farm with the Amish gettin' they goats from
    I'm from the dirty south, but I'm clean so call me soap scum
    I'll sell the same shit twice, double dip it and re-up
    I ain't married to this rap game, we ain't signin' a prenup
    You up late watchin' raunchy cable, and I'mma creep behind your couch
    And crack ya motherfuckin' skull on the coffee table

    [Outro]
    And that's that you crack rats
    64 bars like it ain't nothin'! Primo, what up?
    We bring that real shit back, that raw shit
    You heard the word?
    Yo, better say cheese motherfuckers. Before I squeeze

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