[ INTRO: Flave ]
Aiyo Celph, there's a lotta wack sh** goin on, man
Lot of motherf**ers drippin with wack juice and all that
b**h-a** motherf**in garbage music on the internet
n***as 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 n***as know
[ VERSE 1: Celph Titled ]
Motherf**er, 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 offa 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 f**in 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 a internet music page, posted some songs up
Beg people to check them, but then they say they all s**
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)
b**h, you're drippin with wack juice and you can't get it off
[ HOOK ]
You're drippin with wack juice and you can't get it off
You're drippin with wack juice and you can't get it off
You're drippin with wack juice and you can't get it off
(You're drippin with wack juice and you can't get it off) --] Canibus
[ VERSE 2: Celph Titled ]
I bring it straight to ya, I won't kick no weirdo literature
Over trash beats with a stupid-a** time signature
Think you're so fresh movin rap forward?
But that's when I'm pressin fast forward
If the future of hip-hop is some f*ggots with mohawks
Tight clothes and women scarfs, then I'm gone
Back to that gutter, back to that basement
Back to real live microphone sk**s and not gay sh**
I really didn't understand it when I heard these joints
It's like on purpose they try to rap with a nerdy voice
(Is you serious?)
My mindstate's like a b**h on a rag - I just don't like you, period
I'll be a rock star and aim my Fender where your heart at
You better guard that, I'm Rick Rubin, here's guitar stabs
I'm the missile and the satellite
I'm the a**a**in type goin out blastin like the end of Scarface
Remember that gun Al Pacino had?
Picture that except it's aimin dead at a emo f*g
Me and Buckwild will shut y'all down
With a box of S-950 discs and my style
So when I see some hipsters in Williamsburg
I'mma ignite they heads yellin "Dance!" while them b**hes burn
You little fairy f**s get the dick sauce
Cause you're drippin with wack juice and you can't get it off
[ HOOK ]
[ VERSE 3: Celph Titled ]
If you're drippin with wack juice I can't help y'all
You can't get it off, can't get a dog to lick it off
Matter of fact, can't get a dog to lift a paw
I love vicious a**aults and that's why I did this song
Oh you're a hater on the sideline sayin Celph is corny
Celph is wack, Celph is this, Celph is that
You know what's funny 'bout that? (What?)
It's your very own mouth the name Celph is comin out at (Damn)
(So what about them clowns that say you're weak?)
Is they buggin, co*ks**er, they wish they could spit my speech
And be the Granddaddy Grenade Man
Runnin the motherf**in show like Ferris Bueller at parade jams
Rollin with Diggin In The Crates fam
The Landmine Lieutenant, underground hip-hop's new name brand
(Recognize)
Pay homage or you pay the cost
(You're drippin with wack juice and you can't get it off)