All About Drama Lyrics
| Song | All About Drama |
| Artist | Celph Titled |
| Album | The Gatalog: A Collection of Chaos |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| It’s all about drama | |
| Yeah, and that’s the way that it is | |
| It’s all about drama | |
| Yeah, and that’s the way that it is | |
| (Verse 1: Big Scoob) | |
| Man I sell drama, wholesale prices, Big Scoob | |
| Come to my hood and you leave iceless | |
| Feel the pain that the streets could bring | |
| Feel the slugs as they hit your brain | |
| BK, push through, leaving you homesick | |
| Brownsville niggas make you run home quick | |
| It’s like a bowling ball on your forehead | |
| You can’t fight, lay your whole team down, just like a strike | |
| I’m real with it, you can find me on the hill with it | |
| Bring your gun you can still get killed with it | |
| Two headed nickel, no tell when the cops come | |
| We bring drama like dum-da-dum-dum | |
| Trendsetters, crazy, don’t make me murder your baby, your baby | |
| Y’all niggas wear bubble gum drawers just to pop shit | |
| J-Fame, Sleepy, Vegas, all hot shit | |
| It’s all about drama | |
| Yeah, and that’s the way that it is | |
| It’s all about drama | |
| Yeah, and that’s the way that it is | |
| (Verse 2: Sleepy Eyes) | |
| Ay, yo, let me get a paper to write | |
| Plus a pen to use, I run through tracks like | |
| Carl Lewis tennis shoes | |
| Run through packs and market my chemicals | |
| Hump hood rats who gargle my genitals | |
| Models and interludes, | |
| The big chrome that I ride shoot through your alloys | |
| And swallow your inner tubes, I bend the rules | |
| Play dirty like James Worthy | |
| And quick with tools | |
| Flame 30 at Jake 30 | |
| I skip through school | |
| Play early at 8:30 | |
| Your clique is fools I place birdies | |
| In grace early, I do this rap shit | |
| For my bitches and thugs | |
| Till them out of town niggas | |
| Getting triples for drugs | |
| Spot runners to the young chicks stripping in clubs | |
| Hoop riders sticking ‘em up and switching to dubs | |
| I spit like a pistol with slugs | |
| So devoted, I play the block for nickels and bubs | |
| (Verse 3: Celph Titled) | |
| Now I might hustle some crack just to feed my seeds | |
| But I ain’t got none, so every red cent is for me | |
| On Columbian blocks, posting up | |
| Ballsy enough to sling yayo there | |
| You can say I got cocoanuts | |
| Knock, knock open up | |
| Guess who it is | |
| It’s that boy Celph Titled with a gun to your kids | |
| And my CD booklet got some 3D crook shit | |
| Blueprints, diagrams and recipes to cook with | |
| Any day of the week, I’m letting the tool spray | |
| No need for an appointment can shoot for Tuesday | |
| I got guns and songs and songs about guns | |
| Had gold fronts in ‘92, robbing kids for Nike shoes | |
| Look at the life we choose, we ain’t just some rappers | |
| We fill coliseums, wile out and hang from rafters | |
| Valedictorian from the school of hard knocks | |
| So fuck Dow Jones, my rifles got large stocks | |
| (Verse 4: Ali Vegas) | |
| Ay, yo, I flow nice, seven digits show price | |
| Struggle my whole life, hustle and roll dice | |
| In the hood with the Gods, Vegas cause I’m good with the cards | |
| While niggas was flipping packs, I was getting stacks | |
| With a few hands of eights and few hands of penny pack | |
| I can get ‘em smacked with the mac, but I ain’t really into that | |
| Young Carl Bruce, swifter than mongoose, do a block with my arms loose | |
| Palming my orange juice, look I live the hard knock life | |
| Dickies suite, caterpillar, car heart life | |
| The prince don’t get along with cats | |
| Ice grill me, here’s a cold shoulder to go along with that | |
| I usually perform with cats, but I’m back to my biz | |
| Ali Vegas uprising, that’s what it is | |
| Eyes low, one of the illest from Queens | |
| And I’m a body every young rapper until I’m the king, mother fucker |
| It' s all about drama | |
| Yeah, and that' s the way that it is | |
| It' s all about drama | |
| Yeah, and that' s the way that it is | |
| Verse 1: Big Scoob | |
| Man I sell drama, wholesale prices, Big Scoob | |
| Come to my hood and you leave iceless | |
| Feel the pain that the streets could bring | |
| Feel the slugs as they hit your brain | |
| BK, push through, leaving you homesick | |
| Brownsville niggas make you run home quick | |
| It' s like a bowling ball on your forehead | |
| You can' t fight, lay your whole team down, just like a strike | |
| I' m real with it, you can find me on the hill with it | |
| Bring your gun you can still get killed with it | |
| Two headed nickel, no tell when the cops come | |
| We bring drama like dumdadumdum | |
| Trendsetters, crazy, don' t make me murder your baby, your baby | |
| Y' all niggas wear bubble gum drawers just to pop shit | |
| JFame, Sleepy, Vegas, all hot shit | |
| It' s all about drama | |
| Yeah, and that' s the way that it is | |
| It' s all about drama | |
| Yeah, and that' s the way that it is | |
| Verse 2: Sleepy Eyes | |
| Ay, yo, let me get a paper to write | |
| Plus a pen to use, I run through tracks like | |
| Carl Lewis tennis shoes | |
| Run through packs and market my chemicals | |
| Hump hood rats who gargle my genitals | |
| Models and interludes, | |
| The big chrome that I ride shoot through your alloys | |
| And swallow your inner tubes, I bend the rules | |
| Play dirty like James Worthy | |
| And quick with tools | |
| Flame 30 at Jake 30 | |
| I skip through school | |
| Play early at 8: 30 | |
| Your clique is fools I place birdies | |
| In grace early, I do this rap shit | |
| For my bitches and thugs | |
| Till them out of town niggas | |
| Getting triples for drugs | |
| Spot runners to the young chicks stripping in clubs | |
| Hoop riders sticking ' em up and switching to dubs | |
| I spit like a pistol with slugs | |
| So devoted, I play the block for nickels and bubs | |
| Verse 3: Celph Titled | |
| Now I might hustle some crack just to feed my seeds | |
| But I ain' t got none, so every red cent is for me | |
| On Columbian blocks, posting up | |
| Ballsy enough to sling yayo there | |
| You can say I got cocoanuts | |
| Knock, knock open up | |
| Guess who it is | |
| It' s that boy Celph Titled with a gun to your kids | |
| And my CD booklet got some 3D crook shit | |
| Blueprints, diagrams and recipes to cook with | |
| Any day of the week, I' m letting the tool spray | |
| No need for an appointment can shoot for Tuesday | |
| I got guns and songs and songs about guns | |
| Had gold fronts in ' 92, robbing kids for Nike shoes | |
| Look at the life we choose, we ain' t just some rappers | |
| We fill coliseums, wile out and hang from rafters | |
| Valedictorian from the school of hard knocks | |
| So fuck Dow Jones, my rifles got large stocks | |
| Verse 4: Ali Vegas | |
| Ay, yo, I flow nice, seven digits show price | |
| Struggle my whole life, hustle and roll dice | |
| In the hood with the Gods, Vegas cause I' m good with the cards | |
| While niggas was flipping packs, I was getting stacks | |
| With a few hands of eights and few hands of penny pack | |
| I can get ' em smacked with the mac, but I ain' t really into that | |
| Young Carl Bruce, swifter than mongoose, do a block with my arms loose | |
| Palming my orange juice, look I live the hard knock life | |
| Dickies suite, caterpillar, car heart life | |
| The prince don' t get along with cats | |
| Ice grill me, here' s a cold shoulder to go along with that | |
| I usually perform with cats, but I' m back to my biz | |
| Ali Vegas uprising, that' s what it is | |
| Eyes low, one of the illest from Queens | |
| And I' m a body every young rapper until I' m the king, mother fucker |
| It' s all about drama | |
| Yeah, and that' s the way that it is | |
| It' s all about drama | |
| Yeah, and that' s the way that it is | |
| Verse 1: Big Scoob | |
| Man I sell drama, wholesale prices, Big Scoob | |
| Come to my hood and you leave iceless | |
| Feel the pain that the streets could bring | |
| Feel the slugs as they hit your brain | |
| BK, push through, leaving you homesick | |
| Brownsville niggas make you run home quick | |
| It' s like a bowling ball on your forehead | |
| You can' t fight, lay your whole team down, just like a strike | |
| I' m real with it, you can find me on the hill with it | |
| Bring your gun you can still get killed with it | |
| Two headed nickel, no tell when the cops come | |
| We bring drama like dumdadumdum | |
| Trendsetters, crazy, don' t make me murder your baby, your baby | |
| Y' all niggas wear bubble gum drawers just to pop shit | |
| JFame, Sleepy, Vegas, all hot shit | |
| It' s all about drama | |
| Yeah, and that' s the way that it is | |
| It' s all about drama | |
| Yeah, and that' s the way that it is | |
| Verse 2: Sleepy Eyes | |
| Ay, yo, let me get a paper to write | |
| Plus a pen to use, I run through tracks like | |
| Carl Lewis tennis shoes | |
| Run through packs and market my chemicals | |
| Hump hood rats who gargle my genitals | |
| Models and interludes, | |
| The big chrome that I ride shoot through your alloys | |
| And swallow your inner tubes, I bend the rules | |
| Play dirty like James Worthy | |
| And quick with tools | |
| Flame 30 at Jake 30 | |
| I skip through school | |
| Play early at 8: 30 | |
| Your clique is fools I place birdies | |
| In grace early, I do this rap shit | |
| For my bitches and thugs | |
| Till them out of town niggas | |
| Getting triples for drugs | |
| Spot runners to the young chicks stripping in clubs | |
| Hoop riders sticking ' em up and switching to dubs | |
| I spit like a pistol with slugs | |
| So devoted, I play the block for nickels and bubs | |
| Verse 3: Celph Titled | |
| Now I might hustle some crack just to feed my seeds | |
| But I ain' t got none, so every red cent is for me | |
| On Columbian blocks, posting up | |
| Ballsy enough to sling yayo there | |
| You can say I got cocoanuts | |
| Knock, knock open up | |
| Guess who it is | |
| It' s that boy Celph Titled with a gun to your kids | |
| And my CD booklet got some 3D crook shit | |
| Blueprints, diagrams and recipes to cook with | |
| Any day of the week, I' m letting the tool spray | |
| No need for an appointment can shoot for Tuesday | |
| I got guns and songs and songs about guns | |
| Had gold fronts in ' 92, robbing kids for Nike shoes | |
| Look at the life we choose, we ain' t just some rappers | |
| We fill coliseums, wile out and hang from rafters | |
| Valedictorian from the school of hard knocks | |
| So fuck Dow Jones, my rifles got large stocks | |
| Verse 4: Ali Vegas | |
| Ay, yo, I flow nice, seven digits show price | |
| Struggle my whole life, hustle and roll dice | |
| In the hood with the Gods, Vegas cause I' m good with the cards | |
| While niggas was flipping packs, I was getting stacks | |
| With a few hands of eights and few hands of penny pack | |
| I can get ' em smacked with the mac, but I ain' t really into that | |
| Young Carl Bruce, swifter than mongoose, do a block with my arms loose | |
| Palming my orange juice, look I live the hard knock life | |
| Dickies suite, caterpillar, car heart life | |
| The prince don' t get along with cats | |
| Ice grill me, here' s a cold shoulder to go along with that | |
| I usually perform with cats, but I' m back to my biz | |
| Ali Vegas uprising, that' s what it is | |
| Eyes low, one of the illest from Queens | |
| And I' m a body every young rapper until I' m the king, mother fucker |
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