Celph Titled - The Gospel According To... lyrics

[Intro] [Blacastan talking]: Ladies and gentlemen. Brothers and sisters. People all around the world. You're now in the presence of greatness. Cause you're now rockin' with the Demigodz. I be your host tonight. I go by the name of Blacastan. And we gon' listen to the gospel. Oh yeah, the gospel according to Celph motherf**in' Titled [Verse One] [Celph Titled]: The microphone mutilator, with bazookas and grenades in excess and surplus How effortless words come Y'all played out like Charlie Sheen t-shirts and coffee mugs I'm lookin' for Ben Frank so somebody best cough him up Or I'mma lunch and murder, cookin' ribs on bunsen burners Lucky I ain't Kentucky Fried so motherf** the Colonel Barrel to your sternum, cylinder to your medulla Canister to your keister For five stacks I'm willin' to shoot ya Hit me out of fear and the silhouette appears The drum magazines that resemble Mickey Mouse ears Get slapped in the face by the book of God And tag you on Facebook as a f*ggot tryin' to look hard All you see is the cig, you ain't seein' the kid I'll rob a bank with earrings and a Madea wig Flee to the crib put the dope in the pot My gun like my bathroom sink, keep the Scope on the top [Interlude] [Blacastan talking] You see? You see? Many have come, and many have tried for glory, but none have achieved it. Except the chosen. And that's the Demigodz. You got slaves and martyrs. And then you got the Pharaohs. The gospel...according to Planetary [Verse Two] [Planetary]: Back when they had Rollie Ma**imino I pollied pa**in' c-notes, rockin' Michael Jack and Tito Psychopathic evil with a rifle and a needle And started hatin' people, I don't trust n***as either So believe us when we say, the heater's tucked away Tomorrow, that's tomorrow, I don't give a f** today I don't wanna f** with Dre, I'd rather run with my alliance If Dre want a verse the motherf**er gotta buy it I'm better than whoever, put your money where your mouth at Write the type of panic that could push the whole crowd back Loud clap, bounce back, I announce that Me and Demigodz, count that Pharaoh n***as out back 20 deep, plenty heat Not too many beef Them n***as know how it go when the Henny creep There's plenty seats you can sit through the horror Verbal murder from the criminal authors [Verse Three] [Esoteric]: I'm the sickest author, slicker talker, raid your liquor locker Lick a shot for all the sh**ty authors I turn into chicken fodder Prime and proper, b**hes grip the co*k and it's a shocker Cause it's bigger than Chewbacca Mount Olympus, it's a monster fam No atoms, I go at 'em, I can conquer land Stomp your man have him Mario Batali on the lamb I can contraband without protesting 80's arcade games that made these grenades bang f** your lame gang, I got 11 Pits in Hicksville Five will cuddle, six k** I'mma Six Million Dollar Man, I got a sick sk** so sit still I know it's tough for you, I'm number one you're number two Yet I'm still the sh** So what you got a gun or two? You wouldn't use 'em if a criminal kicked in your door Raping your wife on the kitchen floor like "b**h give me more." Plus your little diss is Swiss, you got no interest in war You don't click a .44, you say, "click on my store" Haha [Interlude] [Segment from the motion picture 'Billy Jack'] [Woman]: I just don't want you to go out and commit murder! Please...We'll go some place else, some place where it doesn't have to be like this [Man]: Oh really? Tell me, where is that place? Where is it? In what remote corner of this country...no the entire goddamn planet? Now you tell me where such a place is and I promise you that I'll never hurt another human being as long as I live. Just one place! [Verse Four] [Motive]: Them subliminal rhymes can earn you a little casket nap Put your life on the line I bet I answer that A broke n***a, who rap about flippin' birds on a block You joke n***a, you the type to spit a verse to a cop You a dead man walkin', similar to the Crypt Keeper Got n***as worked up for nothin' like a dick teaser Who got you fooled with that high octane? Now I'm on some bullsh** like Luol Deng My speech is precise so weapons that are lethal are mics A rebel that will make the Devil say "I need Christ in my life" You a pretender Cross that line, f** tryin' to injure, man I end ya You a f*g showin' your gender It's funny how cats act goon believin' they rap tunes What they speakin', they leakin' from stab wounds [Outro] [Blacastan talking]: Now consider yourself blessed motherf**ers. Ba** drop!