Celph Titled - Tropic States paroles de (lyrics)

Yeah, yo, yo new start baby, what
Genix, all day every day, atomic
Hard head baby

Yo, yo, ay
Yo in this two triple 0 spitting fire flow
Through your team photos and hit me up
Don’t give them Tampa hoes a dime
They be shiesty awful pricey
Acting like they too hot for polar icees
They want their diamond watches now
Smell the power watch me peel out
On a nigga dollar mountain biking
You heard what jigga said right
Get to bouncing catch a cab or take a
City bus ride or something
No blunt puffing for you
What happened to you
You used to be battle-able
This tragedy sounded very true
See that chick in the berry blue skirt
She called me a jerk
For working the wars too long
I had her on her knees and palms
Screaming my song for treating me wrong
The groupie soon to be singing along
It takes not long at all just
To feel what I’m on and Celph putting me on
(And that’s the type of shit we on)

Ay, you it’s RK, running to kill
Not your everyday run of the mill emcee
That’s running the field with
Guns full of steel
Navigating the globe with a
Compass and shield i don’t fumble for real
Run though block stumbling steel
While rupturing shield and crumpling heels
Living large, dog
But I’m still hungry for mills
I was summoned for skill but let niggas know
Lord is coming for real
Covered in teal, with hundreds of pills
Cause we popping at will
We mad enough to pop shots at your bill
And in the meantime, we shopping for deals
With lots of appeal
I got to rhyme like a klepto has to steal
I spit more heat than a Glock in your grill
Noting I got is concealed
Easily seen like you watching a film
Everything I spit they dropping it real
My words are like motion
Pictures grubbing for mills
RK the hip hop equivalent of Steven Speil

Ay, yo we make it happen
Never slacking up on the macking
I’m in the money trap in a platinum plaque
Jacking don’t get caught slipping
Mic ripping and cris sipping
32 Glocks spitting infinite rounds
When I start flipping i ain’t tripping
Leave your faggoty poverty stricken
My clique will stay shitting and
Passing out verbal ass whippings
Whether air max, air Jordan’s or Bo Jackson
Never relax
And catch a reaction asking for action
It’s Murdock
I know that you hate that I’m rapping
Cocky and jaw clapping cheesing
And cheek smacking you in the club acting
Talking about y’all clapping
Ran up on the real
Got dropped and ain’t know what happened

I’m impossible to burn like TV dinners
Impossible to document
You might as well do a
Project on Blair Witches
Impossible to cross like barbed wired fences
Impossible to peel off like dentures
Once I'm hard in your grill like dentists
While you struggle that
I’m juggling bowling pins and play tennis
Some say that I’m cocky and arrogant
Some say my genius is like the shit
Hidden in Roswell with other evidence
You all bitch like feminists
Injected with extra estrogen
I don’t play no more
That went out with little league baseball
A high intelligence
You ain’t ready for what I got in store
Further more, you don’t compare to me
Not even barely
I have you hiding in the attic
With Anne Frank and her family

Listen when I speak
Your whole crew’s delivery is weak
Fuck peace, I want beef
Let’s take it to the streets
I eat your whole squad and spit
Out odd dismembered globs of kids
Who acting hard and got
They body frame scarred
You jumping out of cars, we
Jumping out of planes, survive the impact
And gat you on a subway train
(train, train) the Dutchmassive motto
Finish the whole bottle
Get weeded and leave your chest hollow
Hollering at whores you hang around with
The loudest pipers in the club
(No doubt, kid) Mega hard junk
Planet bombard your stereo, scenario
F-L-A team get the dinero

When Celph Titled and the track collide
You see worldwide action
International united chrome passion
Apocalyptic impact that make
Your bones quiver my sixth sense is to rob
From holy water rivers
And all them other niggas
That don’t speak the truth
About the God supreme a sala to bomb regime
Poly-ing with aolites up in the synagogue
Accurate to details, minus the etcetera
My father told me to bust first, remain calm
And recited words you’ll find
In the same song
Unique wisdom, centennial prophesies
8-1-3 monopoly, my Vietnam philosophy

Sometimes I might bust first
Depending on my mood
Whether I’m bent or sober
Or just laying in a coma
My girl standing next to me saying it’s over
But the only one who could
Judge me is Jehovah
He was there when I was O-D’d in a coma
My whole world was frozen
Thought I was one of the chosen
My life was only worth what you holding
A blue beeper and a dime sack of reefer
20 dollars in my wallet and not
A damn cent of profit
Sick and tired of living this way
I’ve got to make it
They legislate rules so I could break it
10, 20, fuck life
I’ve got to kill niggas to make it
And your boy going to eat
So don’t get it mistaken
I’m trying to count hundos until
My wrist be shaking