Styles Ain't Raw - Celph Titled, Buck Wild

I’m ill versatile, with the skill no more

Wack MC’s wanna flex but their styles they bore

I’m ill versatile, with the skill no more

Wack MC’s wanna flex but their styles they bore

It’s like I conjured demons, got bitches at my concert screamin'

Like a naval recruiter they truly want the sea men

Rip MCs at the seams leave 'em stomped as cement

I bring these motherfuckers hell if they don’t repent

Give 'em aneurysms when I start usin' big words

So I speak to 'em real simple like Big Bird

This has been brought to you by the letter «A»

Better pray you get away when I let Berettas spray

Get erased, get replaced real quick in this rap biz

Like the wrong answers on a second grade math quiz

Sick of simplifyin' for you simple minded Simple Simons

This is simple science when I spit it’s signifyin'

That my spit is fryin', I could spit shine the sun’s surface

With verses hot as fire, breathin' dragon’s burpses

I hate to burst your bubble but you faggots been bottle fed

Noddin' your noggin to what I’m sayin' like bobble heads

I’ll boggle your mind and crack a bottle of wine

Over your dome 'til your skull’s at the bottom of your spine

So dope you gotta rewind a lot of the rhymes

If Jesus Christ read my notebook then God will go blind

I’m ill versatile, with the skill no more

Wack MC’s wanna flex but their styles they bore

I’m ill versatile, with the skill no more

Wack MC’s wanna flex but their styles they bore

I’m ill versatile, with the skill no more

Wack MC’s wanna flex but their styles they bore

I’m ill versatile, with the skill no more

Wack MC’s wanna flex but their styles they bore

When I speak it’s a problem, I’m a beast and a goblin

Fuckin' a MILF that closely resembles Marie Osmond

And I’ve been… layin' in the cut

Mind controllin' elephants, stab your face with a tusk

Orchestrator o' death, I am a black reverend

Monitor your stats, it’s all you need is Monistat 7

Singin' Eye Of The Tiger but you in eyeliner

Mile high club, flight attendent goin' down on a guy sky diver

Ed 209 malfunction 500 rounds

I’m dumpin' a Gatling gun to your dome

We act like dynamite inside a pumpkin (sadistic appendages)

My whole body’s evil, havin' fun with two guns hittin' (Like some double desert

eagles)

We cop cars that look like cop cars

And got heli-copters to zero in on hella cop cars

And send a missile at your official tissue

'Cause your track sound gayer than the Mr. Wendell instrumental

Detrimental to your squad, I’ll distance members

And dismember body parts and gift rap 'em for this December

Death is the plan, you will meet Ed McMahon

When I clear you out, 'cause bombs that I publish be clearing house

I’m ill versatile, with the skill no more

Wack MC’s wanna flex but their styles they bore

I’m ill versatile, with the skill no more

Wack MC’s wanna flex but their styles they bore

I’m ill versatile, with the skill no more

Wack MC’s wanna flex but their styles they bore

I’m ill versatile, with the skill no more

Wack MC’s wanna flex but their styles they bore

Look!

Up in the sky.

It’s a bird!

It’s a plane!

It’s…

(The Puerto Rican Superhero!)

Yo, I’m angry like my momma just beat me with a switch

Madder than Nick Cannon when Eminem be dissin' his bitch

Big Chino is known to be a wild kid

Y’all refuse to get tested, you know, that Pacquiao shit

Where ever there’s drama I’mma fly and find the fucker

Beat him in the face till he’s ugly like Usher’s baby’s mama

I pray for ya death and I pray that I’m the cause of it Idiot, killin' a blind man with his own walkin' stick

My quickest simplest rhythms out-riddle all arithmetic’s

I memorize ridiculous, I can hypnotize a hypnotist

Spittin' less than 33 ounces, still considered a liter

My skills are far fetched like a Labrador Retriever

I mean I, keep o' lot of balls, only rivaled by the Gods o' Mars

Watchin' Mya’s ass shake on Dance With The Stars

My foes plot against me My verbal molest and deserve to be put in chairs of electric like Roman Polansky

I put that I target artists on my resume and place 'em in puddles of blood you

can see 80 miles away

Your survival is decided by which side of the bed I wake up on Worship the works of the wordsmith like it was a cross

My effect on women is hard to explain

I can piss on they head and convince them that it’s rain

I’m vain, my six pack makin' bitches love me more

Get out of line and get punched like you Snookie on The Jersey Shore

My raw thoughts are awful

I’m so twisted I could eat an iron nail and… shit out a corkscrew

My writtens are displayed inside of Egyptian pantheons

Chino’s bananas, I spit potassium and calcium and umm

You ain’t feelin' my spillings?

Only a minor lost cause

I am bad to the bone like a rotting corpse

My word a monologue

Keep rappers scared to go up in the booth

Like it’s Magic Johnson’s wife’s vagina raw

I’m ill versatile, with the skill no more

Wack MC’s wanna flex but their styles they bore

I’m ill versatile, with the skill no more

Wack MC’s wanna flex but their styles they bore

Yeah.

The coalition of the spoken word crack cookers

Celph Titled.

Apathy.

Chino XL.

Shuttin' shit the frrruck down

Buckwild.

D.I.T.C.

Forever and ever motherfucker

Or would you rather me throw you in the fuckin' river?

Or would you rather your house blows up next time?

«An attorney in Orange County made an explosive discovery last night at his

office.

He found a grenade hanging on his door!

He told police he was heading

into work late to wrap up some unfinished work when he spotted the hand grenade

and stopped dead in his tracks.

The bomb squad removed that device,

they haven’t said yet if it was actually a live grenade.»

«I'mma blow this motherfucker up if I don’t get my motherfuckin' change!»

«Well that hit the spot!»