[Intro: Flave]
Ayo Celph, there's a lotta wack shit goin' on, man
Lot of motherfuckers drippin' with wack juice and all that
Bitch-ass motherfuckin' garbage music on the internet
Niggas wearin' tight jeans and mohawks
Like my boy Hov said: I don't wear skinny jeans 'cause my nuts don't fit
But Celph, let these niggas know
[Verse 1: Celph Titled]
Motherfucker, I came to set it off (What you mad for?)
These amateurs destroy the whole rap platform (Word?)
Think I'm wrong? Check the facts
You'd be hard-pressed to find a fan that's just a fan that don't rap
Everybody got a song, everybody got a mixtape
Braggin 'bout the verses that they purchase off of MySpace
They ain't buyin' records, they workin' on their records
And postin' bulletins to make sure you heard their records
I get fan mail, you write spam mail
All about your CD that for some reason just can't sell
I wonder why is that (I wonder), Is your flow not hard?
Lyrics ain't on point, production not up to par?
Or... ah... you don't spit hot enough bars?
Or 'cause you're little Timmy and you're just fuckin' soft?
Your voice sound lame as hell (True)
You can't command a track, plus you use the mic that came with your Dell
(Dude) Made an internet music page, posted some songs up
Beg people to check them, but then they say they all suck
It ain't my fault that you're wack, it's my fault for not makin' this track sooner
I'm the Demigodz gat shooter, the AOTP crack mover
With impactful maneouvers send jabs at losers like I'm Zab Judah
(He ain't talkin' 'bout me at all)
Bitch, you're drippin' with wack juice and you can't get it off
Ayo Celph, there's a lotta wack shit goin' on, man
Lot of motherfuckers drippin' with wack juice and all that
Bitch-ass motherfuckin' garbage music on the internet
Niggas wearin' tight jeans and mohawks
Like my boy Hov said: I don't wear skinny jeans 'cause my nuts don't fit
But Celph, let these niggas know
[Verse 1: Celph Titled]
Motherfucker, I came to set it off (What you mad for?)
These amateurs destroy the whole rap platform (Word?)
Think I'm wrong? Check the facts
You'd be hard-pressed to find a fan that's just a fan that don't rap
Everybody got a song, everybody got a mixtape
Braggin 'bout the verses that they purchase off of MySpace
They ain't buyin' records, they workin' on their records
And postin' bulletins to make sure you heard their records
I get fan mail, you write spam mail
All about your CD that for some reason just can't sell
I wonder why is that (I wonder), Is your flow not hard?
Lyrics ain't on point, production not up to par?
Or... ah... you don't spit hot enough bars?
Or 'cause you're little Timmy and you're just fuckin' soft?
Your voice sound lame as hell (True)
You can't command a track, plus you use the mic that came with your Dell
(Dude) Made an internet music page, posted some songs up
Beg people to check them, but then they say they all suck
It ain't my fault that you're wack, it's my fault for not makin' this track sooner
I'm the Demigodz gat shooter, the AOTP crack mover
With impactful maneouvers send jabs at losers like I'm Zab Judah
(He ain't talkin' 'bout me at all)
Bitch, you're drippin' with wack juice and you can't get it off
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