The Final Word

(Intro: L Fudge)
Yeah, yeah
Unh, unh
L Fudge, Celph Titled
(Verse 1: L Fudge)
You lacks the minerals and vitamins
Respect due to that
The average hip hop consumer is now like, who that?
Songs now a days ain’t staying stuck in your brain
They got to the point that all songs that suck sound the same
Speaking on behalf of a third of us in the game
Whenever **** comes up they ain’t announcing our names
Not running up in clubs screaming
When my songs pumping they celeb status waning like Keenan
They big headed and gassed up, I’m staying on the cement
Don’t want to hear that talk around me, I’m not playing
But my villains, y’all couldn’t help know this *****
Is rated over me then, y’all automatically
Get more frequent to my *****
Pay attention to how closely to how stupid y’all look
Like a producer dropping dime on a new Cubans hook
**** back to the song, continuing to split lyrics in half
To the point in the bathroom you ask if its on
You’ll be like, ‘yeah it is’ don’t his rap be the bomb
Listen what’s with dun and our pens sing a long
Bring it on, whatever, that’s how this **** supposed to be
I ain’t new nice, I’ve been since Hawaiian Sophie, please
(Verse 2: Celph Titled)
You can’t mislead a champion
Don Dada, Celph Pachino
Nice with the gun clap, get your front smacked
You not militant, so how can your rank hang
With a man that is quick enough to dodge
A bullet a point blank range
The 9 double M snub, real handle this
I don’t puff ****, but I could still smoke Canibus
Upper echelon, at the Grammys, get my trophy on
I’m kind of childish, I’ll choke you with a Pokemon
In fact, I like *** and violence so much
I have fantasies of busting off rounds when I ****
Some say I’m a sick *****, let the gun click *****
Cuban spic *****, why you all up on my ****, *****?
I said it before, and I’m a say it again
I’d rather write with a knife and stab your ass with a pen
You couldn’t release **** **** even if you at a kilo
*****s know my stee-lo and scream “Aye que Rico”
Celph Titled is lethal without enhancements
I’m like a tape deck that can’t rewind, always advancing
I’ll smack Swiss Beats over the head with his own Casio
And bring real hip hop back to my stage show
I don’t know sign language so **** a contract
That’s what I speak, understand that
Wanna know what a real ***** feels like?
Why don’t you stand in the corner and hug yourself real tight
Mother ******
(Verse 3:)
(Celph Titled) Yo, this is for my ****** smoking chronic in blunts
(L-Fudge) For my my British ****** smoking spliffs along with silk, hunh?
(Celph Titled) For my European ****** smoking ounces of skunk
(L-Fudge) To my Dominican’s making thousands off of just one
(Celph Titled) We can make songs for you, ****, why the **** not
(L-Fudge) I take the first hit, hide it from cops, cops see, don’t they paid to be ****, I’m addicted to *****es that give me brains to elope, but I’m tied up like Rudolph on a sleigh to a rope and cut up short like a movie to a ****
(Celph Titled) I’m an ungrateful asshole who’s always quick to wet cops, have my t-shirts made in a third world sweat shop
(L-Fudge) You should have some sympathy
(Celph Titled) Well how could I have that? When I was 12, I was homeless and living with the rats
(L-Fudge) It’s L-Fudge and Celph Titled we be NY’s best, coming four times magnum, straight to your chest, what