paroles de chanson Playin With Fire - Styles of Beyond , Celph Titled , Apathy

Stand back, put the picture my frame,
The handcraft of a master, the flicker, the flame,
That sell three madman Megadef LP,
Monster mash, prop for what? From S.O.B.,
Shout to Honeycomb... what would I be without wax?
Just another empty battery shell in the pack,
String on the puppet, laughin', claimin' I'm all of that,
When I know in fact, everything you claim is all crap.

Yo, got the fuse lit, keepin' it movin', so,
Freakin' abusive, people are pukin', so,
Sick of the music, suckin' the fumes in,
So don't get it confused, I'm not you, stupid,
Hundred-proof booze in the back, all tipsy,
Bring two clips, I'm clappin' all sixty,
Swing through quick and bust if one's empty,
Your chances of leavin' the club: fifty/fifty.

Wanna fuck around with Hell's recruits?
I'll stomp Satan in his face 'till it melts my boots,
I'll use the sun for my throne, universe as my home,
And your skull as a crown to adorn my dome.
Watch porn with your girl, slip a mickey in her Beck's,
Put a hickey on her neck, then the titties I caress,
Under match of Mickeys set's, I'm the one the chickies sweat,
Make 'em suck it 'till their jaw's fucked up like 50 Cent's.
Most of you faggots stay postin' that jacked shit,
But when we retaliate, it's never some rap shit,
Swing on your mandible and bring out mechanical,
Devices that splices flesh from the intangible,
I spark fire like electrical shocks,
And ready the glocks, to clash with Connecticut cops,
Who on some Brad Pitt shit, so you better go watch,
The movie Seven, 'cause you'll find your wife's head in a box.

Rush you bustas, get touched with nunchucks,
You tough tough, askin' to really get fucked up,
Who cares what you been through? I'm goin' against you, so,
Sharpen your skills while I sharpen my Ginsu.
Gas and ashes, and medical kits, but see,
That's what happens when chemicals mix,
The birth of a strange creature, umbilical split,
But for now, the main feature, you said it was sick.

The word on the streets is that I'm hellbound, 'cause I bully Christians,
But I stay up in the armory, developin' pulley systems,
For launchin' grenades strategically, onstage with heaters illegally,
Got the sound man shook at my vocal frequency,
Back at the crib, bitch better strap on a bib,
'Cause when I'm bustin' off, it's drippin' off the tip of her chin,
Chickens and hens, you know I keep 'em bendin' over for me,
With my chef hat, stuffin' poultry on the upholstery,
Celph Titled's known as a gangsta to some,
I got the powers of the godz, acclimated to one,
All these young cats with glocks, tryin' to clear the floor,
I'm old school, when I'm pullin' out my Fearless Four,
Hear the sound of the clap? Bury your face,
'Cause the mag that I pack needs a carryin' case,
I'm not from the Aryan race, but I'll still persecute you,
Ride around in the trunk with a little hole to shoot through.

I'm "Word Perfect," back in the circuit,
Been... top ten since you were snatchin' purses,
Golf club thug, a nickel and dime hustler,
All them mob flicks are makin' you rhyme tougher,
When the nine clicks, you freeze,
Two sick emcees, get cool quick when I'm shootin' the breeze,
Who's this? Ryu and Tak, with Ap and Celph,
Spittin' heat 'till the plastic melt, watch it.

Claim you wanna stay, but you have to go,
Grab the gun powder, blast the calico,
Time to saddle up, this ain't a talent show,
You wanna battle what? Bullets that travel slow.

Talk, but keep steppin'.
Discrete, false perception.
Talk, but keep steppin'.
Spark with heat weapons.