Guerilla Orchestra Lyrics
| Song | Guerilla Orchestra |
| Artist | Celph Titled |
| Album | The Gatalog: A Collection of Chaos |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| (Intro: Tino Vega) | |
| Yeah, I like this one, yeah | |
| Yo, Celph, Apathy and Tino Vega, yo | |
| Unnh hunh (Set it on him like that) | |
| Tampa Florida, baby yeah | |
| (Verse 1: Tino Vega) | |
| Ay, yo, pass me a hat about these black ashes | |
| Be out as fast as I can your man got bodied | |
| In the back of a stolen Ac, | |
| By black trash baggers, what’s going on | |
| Nowadays we got gay rappers | |
| Singing our songs and hearing me wrong | |
| Till they repping it strong baby, all day long | |
| Cliques rapping about making moves | |
| Playing it calm climbing up Jacobs ladder | |
| See a mill and we on | |
| What hold down fort, you thought wrong | |
| Blood sport, loud in the place, I’m loud in your face | |
| Sirens mad loud when they chase | |
| Sick of them jakes, I want to put sticks in they steaks, yo | |
| Walkman through sales, you caught attacking them stakes | |
| Keep dropping the hot *************t for the payers to hate, you know | |
| So fell me, if not, I don’t care, throw your girls panties in the air | |
| That’s how we on the keep, flaunting them drawers | |
| We’re going to pawn them | |
| Your man keep talking that spit, I’m going to dog him | |
| Got dreams of marrying a Latin chick, a rapper ************* from Harlem | |
| You can ask the surfer dudes and hippies if I’m awesome | |
| Yo, back up off him this *************s too hot, run in your spot | |
| Leaving with everything you got | |
| Don’t believe me best not, put the stress on the dreadlocks | |
| *************s get props, lick 10 shots for hip hop | |
| What, what? Bring it on, you don’t want it, what | |
| (Verse 2: Celph Titled) | |
| Yo, unh, yo | |
| I don’t get no iller than Celph Titled | |
| For God sakes | |
| We move in silence except for the sound | |
| The glock makes | |
| Where I’m from, we never name names | |
| We just be pointing infrared beams | |
| And watch the barrel start to spit flames | |
| Insane from birth, flip game with words | |
| Inflict pain and it hurts | |
| In actuality, I’m know astronomically | |
| Leave a mother ****** split in half | |
| I heard you talking this and that | |
| We taking no shorts like church dress codes | |
| I need a ************* that’ll stash my guns inside of casseroles | |
| Test my gangster and the outcome is straight A’s | |
| Bullet holes from AKs, wounds bleeding for eight days | |
| It’s kind of ****** up how we some raw *************s | |
| That’ll spit some hardcore *************t over beats like this | |
| I must be out my ******g mind without a doubt | |
| My fam keep it gorilla with banana clips | |
| We let the monkey out ************* | |
| (Verse 3: Apathy) | |
| Yeah, unh unh unh, what | |
| Yeah, me and your girl will take a walk through the park | |
| Late night in the dark, I’ll caress the back of her neck | |
| Then rip out her heart, sharp mentality | |
| Apathy grips gats, spits raps ************* slaps chicks back | |
| I’m funky chewing tic tacs cause after I eat flesh | |
| My breath smells like death | |
| After I ************* chicks, their breath smells like sweat | |
| I’ll lock it down, ****** the pound | |
| Be careful who you talk around | |
| Cops found another mic to draw the white chalk around | |
| And while you small cats are trying to bust off gats | |
| I got to wreck it over records, so I dust off wax | |
| Ap, Celph and Tino can slam it like we’re Tino Santana | |
| From Tampa Bay to CT my gamma rays change my brain | |
| Like Lou Ferrigno, I’ll spit flows to rip shows and get dough | |
| I’ll stick hos who lick ************* until it blows | |
| I’ll hit Foes the clip goes and gats, you’ll never test Ap | |
| So just put away your raps, you’re wack |
| Intro: Tino Vega | |
| Yeah, I like this one, yeah | |
| Yo, Celph, Apathy and Tino Vega, yo | |
| Unnh hunh Set it on him like that | |
| Tampa Florida, baby yeah | |
| Verse 1: Tino Vega | |
| Ay, yo, pass me a hat about these black ashes | |
| Be out as fast as I can your man got bodied | |
| In the back of a stolen Ac, | |
| By black trash baggers, what' s going on | |
| Nowadays we got gay rappers | |
| Singing our songs and hearing me wrong | |
| Till they repping it strong baby, all day long | |
| Cliques rapping about making moves | |
| Playing it calm climbing up Jacobs ladder | |
| See a mill and we on | |
| What hold down fort, you thought wrong | |
| Blood sport, loud in the place, I' m loud in your face | |
| Sirens mad loud when they chase | |
| Sick of them jakes, I want to put sticks in they steaks, yo | |
| Walkman through sales, you caught attacking them stakes | |
| Keep dropping the hot t for the payers to hate, you know | |
| So fell me, if not, I don' t care, throw your girls panties in the air | |
| That' s how we on the keep, flaunting them drawers | |
| We' re going to pawn them | |
| Your man keep talking that spit, I' m going to dog him | |
| Got dreams of marrying a Latin chick, a rapper from Harlem | |
| You can ask the surfer dudes and hippies if I' m awesome | |
| Yo, back up off him this s too hot, run in your spot | |
| Leaving with everything you got | |
| Don' t believe me best not, put the stress on the dreadlocks | |
| s get props, lick 10 shots for hip hop | |
| What, what? Bring it on, you don' t want it, what | |
| Verse 2: Celph Titled | |
| Yo, unh, yo | |
| I don' t get no iller than Celph Titled | |
| For God sakes | |
| We move in silence except for the sound | |
| The glock makes | |
| Where I' m from, we never name names | |
| We just be pointing infrared beams | |
| And watch the barrel start to spit flames | |
| Insane from birth, flip game with words | |
| Inflict pain and it hurts | |
| In actuality, I' m know astronomically | |
| Leave a mother split in half | |
| I heard you talking this and that | |
| We taking no shorts like church dress codes | |
| I need a that' ll stash my guns inside of casseroles | |
| Test my gangster and the outcome is straight A' s | |
| Bullet holes from AKs, wounds bleeding for eight days | |
| It' s kind of up how we some raw s | |
| That' ll spit some hardcore t over beats like this | |
| I must be out my g mind without a doubt | |
| My fam keep it gorilla with banana clips | |
| We let the monkey out | |
| Verse 3: Apathy | |
| Yeah, unh unh unh, what | |
| Yeah, me and your girl will take a walk through the park | |
| Late night in the dark, I' ll caress the back of her neck | |
| Then rip out her heart, sharp mentality | |
| Apathy grips gats, spits raps slaps chicks back | |
| I' m funky chewing tic tacs cause after I eat flesh | |
| My breath smells like death | |
| After I chicks, their breath smells like sweat | |
| I' ll lock it down, the pound | |
| Be careful who you talk around | |
| Cops found another mic to draw the white chalk around | |
| And while you small cats are trying to bust off gats | |
| I got to wreck it over records, so I dust off wax | |
| Ap, Celph and Tino can slam it like we' re Tino Santana | |
| From Tampa Bay to CT my gamma rays change my brain | |
| Like Lou Ferrigno, I' ll spit flows to rip shows and get dough | |
| I' ll stick hos who lick until it blows | |
| I' ll hit Foes the clip goes and gats, you' ll never test Ap | |
| So just put away your raps, you' re wack |
| Intro: Tino Vega | |
| Yeah, I like this one, yeah | |
| Yo, Celph, Apathy and Tino Vega, yo | |
| Unnh hunh Set it on him like that | |
| Tampa Florida, baby yeah | |
| Verse 1: Tino Vega | |
| Ay, yo, pass me a hat about these black ashes | |
| Be out as fast as I can your man got bodied | |
| In the back of a stolen Ac, | |
| By black trash baggers, what' s going on | |
| Nowadays we got gay rappers | |
| Singing our songs and hearing me wrong | |
| Till they repping it strong baby, all day long | |
| Cliques rapping about making moves | |
| Playing it calm climbing up Jacobs ladder | |
| See a mill and we on | |
| What hold down fort, you thought wrong | |
| Blood sport, loud in the place, I' m loud in your face | |
| Sirens mad loud when they chase | |
| Sick of them jakes, I want to put sticks in they steaks, yo | |
| Walkman through sales, you caught attacking them stakes | |
| Keep dropping the hot t for the payers to hate, you know | |
| So fell me, if not, I don' t care, throw your girls panties in the air | |
| That' s how we on the keep, flaunting them drawers | |
| We' re going to pawn them | |
| Your man keep talking that spit, I' m going to dog him | |
| Got dreams of marrying a Latin chick, a rapper from Harlem | |
| You can ask the surfer dudes and hippies if I' m awesome | |
| Yo, back up off him this s too hot, run in your spot | |
| Leaving with everything you got | |
| Don' t believe me best not, put the stress on the dreadlocks | |
| s get props, lick 10 shots for hip hop | |
| What, what? Bring it on, you don' t want it, what | |
| Verse 2: Celph Titled | |
| Yo, unh, yo | |
| I don' t get no iller than Celph Titled | |
| For God sakes | |
| We move in silence except for the sound | |
| The glock makes | |
| Where I' m from, we never name names | |
| We just be pointing infrared beams | |
| And watch the barrel start to spit flames | |
| Insane from birth, flip game with words | |
| Inflict pain and it hurts | |
| In actuality, I' m know astronomically | |
| Leave a mother split in half | |
| I heard you talking this and that | |
| We taking no shorts like church dress codes | |
| I need a that' ll stash my guns inside of casseroles | |
| Test my gangster and the outcome is straight A' s | |
| Bullet holes from AKs, wounds bleeding for eight days | |
| It' s kind of up how we some raw s | |
| That' ll spit some hardcore t over beats like this | |
| I must be out my g mind without a doubt | |
| My fam keep it gorilla with banana clips | |
| We let the monkey out | |
| Verse 3: Apathy | |
| Yeah, unh unh unh, what | |
| Yeah, me and your girl will take a walk through the park | |
| Late night in the dark, I' ll caress the back of her neck | |
| Then rip out her heart, sharp mentality | |
| Apathy grips gats, spits raps slaps chicks back | |
| I' m funky chewing tic tacs cause after I eat flesh | |
| My breath smells like death | |
| After I chicks, their breath smells like sweat | |
| I' ll lock it down, the pound | |
| Be careful who you talk around | |
| Cops found another mic to draw the white chalk around | |
| And while you small cats are trying to bust off gats | |
| I got to wreck it over records, so I dust off wax | |
| Ap, Celph and Tino can slam it like we' re Tino Santana | |
| From Tampa Bay to CT my gamma rays change my brain | |
| Like Lou Ferrigno, I' ll spit flows to rip shows and get dough | |
| I' ll stick hos who lick until it blows | |
| I' ll hit Foes the clip goes and gats, you' ll never test Ap | |
| So just put away your raps, you' re wack |
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