The Professionals, Kazi, Roc C , M.E.D., Wildchild (Lootpack) - CDP Smackdown lyrics

Nigga, it takes one, to make a million run
Believe it (fuck you think you talkin to?)
Mothafucka shut the fuck up
This is it right here i’m official
I’m cuttin on you
(cuttin on you, cutting on you)
I don’t give a fuck (fuck that shit)
Get the fuck outta here
Frontin, get half the bones in ya body broken
Call security

Ayo, I walked in and smacked
Him across the face
Knocked him off his place
Threw the first chair like in Office Space
Awkward pace
The leg took off his legs, smash all trait's
The crowd screamed loud from the bloody trace
Lunged him to the ropes
While I held his arms I put
My fist to the sky
And then I punched him in the throat
Ayo, Wild, let him go
(Nah, let me get 'em, Oh)
A'ight, bet let this fool know
'bout what we do, bro

Ay, you just a copy now we ligers
Ready to eat you like Siegfried and Roy
Ready to be destroyed, like Floyd
Did to Pacquiao, knocking you out
No refs here to save you
While you floppin' on a sloppy foul
You know how the Ox get down
My trainer Madlib yellin'
"don't let him throw out the towel!"
So Oh No assembled up a crew
To turn these cats into a falafel now
But, I'll stop for now so instead
My nigga MED can leave a tread on ya head
While I celebrate with some Ciroc for now

Sound of the ding, scorpion sting
Four-finger ring, can't duck when I swing
I break beef cheek bones and a spleen
Your girl on her knees, please
I'm bobbin' her weave
Easily, I corner your team, bone crushin'
No punch-ins, one take with a sixteen
Maybe this is too much
Half a verse, still ate 'em up
Flow golden gloves when I lace 'em up

Like Brock told Cormier
Yeah, I'm comin' for you muthafucka
Heavyweight division is weak
Gracie, wavy, El Cucuy truly
Who he be? Roman greco, the next flow
ROC, Ox native, I'm Errol Spence
You're Keith Thurman i'm swarmin' the body
Release your soul to the paparazzi
Can't save 'em, mama should've never had 'em
Couldn't raise 'em, known as a guinea bastard

Tag me in, let the goon get off
Figure-four locked on, we own the octagon
Broken arms by armbars moves the crowd
Tactics, cerebral creepin' and
Moving through wilds
I'm a mad man, slip in ya mouth an Ambien
Hijacked the titles
You never get a shot again
Prepare for war's my pedigree
High power for battle, CDP's auxiliary

Yo, let me back in, I tapped it, jumped it
Like it's from the buckle, did the buckle up
Hit 'em with a buckle add and buckle up
Wasn't ready for the ride
I ruffled up they feathers
Was it rough enough?
Break off the ruffles and we'll rough 'em up
I threw a Jon Jones elbow over the rail slow
Using the hands and what hell holds
The trust goes the fire from the pyrotechnics
No counts needed from the refs when
I pulled the plug, they now disconnected

The fuck is on yo mind?

Fall back

I told you this shit is mine!

Prosperity!
Right on! And what's the key to prosperity?
(Money)
Money! That's right and that's why we're here