[Verse 1: Zilla]
My first time outta the gate, we back on that Pharaoh shit
Zilla in the mix with a deadly pause in his arrow tip
Rock spots, wielding machete murder it nonstop
On my block, niggas will squeeze bleeding your snot box
(Raw)
Definition we definitely the missing
Link, hand me the keys of the rocket we on the brink
And blast off it's fight music
I'm like Ike Quartey in his prime
Critics don't rhyme, I let the hype prove it
Fuck your deal in the ass, I came to hurt 'em and crash
300 soldiers commandeered by Paz
A million listeners supported my camp
Who would've thought the boy from Texas could massacre on verbal command
I'm the reason you rewriting your verse kid
You're better off with metal in your mouth going out like Kurt did
AOTP the mahfucking truth
I'm a monster truck rolling over your Coupe
Let's go!
[Verse 2: Celph Titled]
While you was arguing who was getting the top of the bunk
I was arguing about who getting the Glock or the pump
Can train paratrooper maneuvers, watch me swoop in
And have these bitches dribbling my balls like Sheryl Swoope's friends
(Oh yeah we balling mayne)
But that's only the start
I play the Master P role, you play Lil' Romeo's part (aww)
I'm a leader not a follower, gasoline I be gargling
Ready to spit it out in front of a flame and make some carcasses
You shopping in bargain bins, I'm outside parking my Benz
Grenade man, much more than a marketing trend (i am)
And if I could I'd shoot napalm bullets
Atomic hollow points before the military even got the joints (what?)
Some futuristic shit, sniper rifles with pistol grips
Heat seeking .50 cals with rocket guiding missile tips (damn)
I'm trying not to scare my neighbor off
So if they see blood I try to play it off like it's tomato sauce
My first time outta the gate, we back on that Pharaoh shit
Zilla in the mix with a deadly pause in his arrow tip
Rock spots, wielding machete murder it nonstop
On my block, niggas will squeeze bleeding your snot box
(Raw)
Definition we definitely the missing
Link, hand me the keys of the rocket we on the brink
And blast off it's fight music
I'm like Ike Quartey in his prime
Critics don't rhyme, I let the hype prove it
Fuck your deal in the ass, I came to hurt 'em and crash
300 soldiers commandeered by Paz
A million listeners supported my camp
Who would've thought the boy from Texas could massacre on verbal command
I'm the reason you rewriting your verse kid
You're better off with metal in your mouth going out like Kurt did
AOTP the mahfucking truth
I'm a monster truck rolling over your Coupe
Let's go!
[Verse 2: Celph Titled]
While you was arguing who was getting the top of the bunk
I was arguing about who getting the Glock or the pump
Can train paratrooper maneuvers, watch me swoop in
And have these bitches dribbling my balls like Sheryl Swoope's friends
(Oh yeah we balling mayne)
But that's only the start
I play the Master P role, you play Lil' Romeo's part (aww)
I'm a leader not a follower, gasoline I be gargling
Ready to spit it out in front of a flame and make some carcasses
You shopping in bargain bins, I'm outside parking my Benz
Grenade man, much more than a marketing trend (i am)
And if I could I'd shoot napalm bullets
Atomic hollow points before the military even got the joints (what?)
Some futuristic shit, sniper rifles with pistol grips
Heat seeking .50 cals with rocket guiding missile tips (damn)
I'm trying not to scare my neighbor off
So if they see blood I try to play it off like it's tomato sauce
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