All out War Lyrics
| Song | All out War |
| Artist | Celph Titled |
| Album | The Gatalog: A Collection of Chaos |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| (Verse 1: Bob Balans) | |
| This is all out war with a fallout sure to cause a backlash | |
| I’ll bash you in the fucking face, I don’t stab backs | |
| Trends attacking rappers with a thirst for blood | |
| Submerge your body in a river shoved in a Persian rug | |
| Eternal come for curtains, that’s a certainty | |
| Leaving third degree burns from these first degree murder sprees | |
| Earning me and my verse and these words global praise | |
| I throw grenades when I’m floating to the shoulder blades | |
| I’m fire bug for hire shrugging a cop off | |
| Plug in the micro bomb, soft cocks until cum bust | |
| We from a long lost planet where rap is real | |
| Still intact and untapped by the mass appeal | |
| Market, LC spark and blast targets | |
| Master the craft and kick it raw like a carcass | |
| Lyrical Commission copping a pop and throw the blades | |
| We roll deeper in the streets than a motorcade | |
| (Verse 2: Trem) | |
| I’m barely breathing, bleeding, heart rate increasing | |
| It’s fire stakes, I can’t take fakes and thieves | |
| And past mistakes seep in through the gaps of my eye | |
| My aim nothing what it seems as I battle with snake charmers | |
| Paint you a portrait, I got a sword, just not cautious, do what I want | |
| My squads forces hard to handle like a grenade on detonation | |
| Rock the candles, a parade of devastation | |
| Defend the nation while I step inside your earlobes | |
| And carve you split of slick spits and I don’t fear no man | |
| You need heroes, all I want is beer, blow some weed and type speech | |
| Some beats and reap zero, disrespect, I hinder reps with heavy burden | |
| Get in your head, and leave you left for dead, they’re calling curtains | |
| This shit’s superb in your Cairo Walkman, go stalking an important | |
| Public figure’s son is a slick assassinator, four fours caught in an elixir | |
| Sworn to fascinate you with scorn sure in the mix, it’s life and death | |
| In this business, it’s kind of sad, but I define my track with death scriptures | |
| (Verse 3: Celph Titled) | |
| There ain’t a mother fucker been in more fights than me | |
| OG’s in my hood ain’t got more stripes than me | |
| Celph Titled is known to tote but when I ain’t packing | |
| I keep a buck fifty so we can get it cracking | |
| And if you throw slugs, you better pray they graze your chin | |
| You said you had an infrared, but that was just a laser pen | |
| Just the site of me will make you strain to breathe | |
| I shoot till I’m satisfied, I aim to please | |
| And you ain’t got more ammo than me, with clips there’s no contender | |
| In my house we keep gun oil in liquid soap dispensers | |
| You shouldn’t let your mouth flap, cause I’m a put you under | |
| And I ain’t talking about the Outback | |
| In New York I’m grungy, In Australia, I’m Dundee | |
| Cooking barbecue with just the smoke from my gun heat | |
| People get comfy with a pillow in the face | |
| The Demigodz and the Commission filling body bags by the case | |
| (Verse 4: Brad Strut) | |
| The world leaves the forgotten to lurk in the waste | |
| That’s why I don’t trust, I hurdle through space | |
| With a thrust and peril is safe from the payback | |
| Cause where I stay you fight for a placemat | |
| And I don’t say cat, cause where I grew up that meant faggot | |
| But I do leaves tracks po’wed and flattered | |
| Staked in habit, daggered, when I unsheathe the mic from the scabbard | |
| And uphold the standard cause your fates borrowed | |
| So check the horrid scars on your face and forehead | |
| In hostile territory like foreign embassy | |
| LC start a war, now we’re the common enemy | |
| Execute you to a tight schedule | |
| Get the general, the rest are expendable | |
| Melt ya, every decibel held ya in a molten tank | |
| Until it’s over your scalp and there’s nothing left for burial | |
| Your aluminum in the smolder stay crushed, the heavy fuel | |
| Expels the metal shells in your shoulder | |
| Arial assault leave you pumped like a propeller |
| Verse 1: Bob Balans | |
| This is all out war with a fallout sure to cause a backlash | |
| I' ll bash you in the fucking face, I don' t stab backs | |
| Trends attacking rappers with a thirst for blood | |
| Submerge your body in a river shoved in a Persian rug | |
| Eternal come for curtains, that' s a certainty | |
| Leaving third degree burns from these first degree murder sprees | |
| Earning me and my verse and these words global praise | |
| I throw grenades when I' m floating to the shoulder blades | |
| I' m fire bug for hire shrugging a cop off | |
| Plug in the micro bomb, soft cocks until cum bust | |
| We from a long lost planet where rap is real | |
| Still intact and untapped by the mass appeal | |
| Market, LC spark and blast targets | |
| Master the craft and kick it raw like a carcass | |
| Lyrical Commission copping a pop and throw the blades | |
| We roll deeper in the streets than a motorcade | |
| Verse 2: Trem | |
| I' m barely breathing, bleeding, heart rate increasing | |
| It' s fire stakes, I can' t take fakes and thieves | |
| And past mistakes seep in through the gaps of my eye | |
| My aim nothing what it seems as I battle with snake charmers | |
| Paint you a portrait, I got a sword, just not cautious, do what I want | |
| My squads forces hard to handle like a grenade on detonation | |
| Rock the candles, a parade of devastation | |
| Defend the nation while I step inside your earlobes | |
| And carve you split of slick spits and I don' t fear no man | |
| You need heroes, all I want is beer, blow some weed and type speech | |
| Some beats and reap zero, disrespect, I hinder reps with heavy burden | |
| Get in your head, and leave you left for dead, they' re calling curtains | |
| This shit' s superb in your Cairo Walkman, go stalking an important | |
| Public figure' s son is a slick assassinator, four fours caught in an elixir | |
| Sworn to fascinate you with scorn sure in the mix, it' s life and death | |
| In this business, it' s kind of sad, but I define my track with death scriptures | |
| Verse 3: Celph Titled | |
| There ain' t a mother fucker been in more fights than me | |
| OG' s in my hood ain' t got more stripes than me | |
| Celph Titled is known to tote but when I ain' t packing | |
| I keep a buck fifty so we can get it cracking | |
| And if you throw slugs, you better pray they graze your chin | |
| You said you had an infrared, but that was just a laser pen | |
| Just the site of me will make you strain to breathe | |
| I shoot till I' m satisfied, I aim to please | |
| And you ain' t got more ammo than me, with clips there' s no contender | |
| In my house we keep gun oil in liquid soap dispensers | |
| You shouldn' t let your mouth flap, cause I' m a put you under | |
| And I ain' t talking about the Outback | |
| In New York I' m grungy, In Australia, I' m Dundee | |
| Cooking barbecue with just the smoke from my gun heat | |
| People get comfy with a pillow in the face | |
| The Demigodz and the Commission filling body bags by the case | |
| Verse 4: Brad Strut | |
| The world leaves the forgotten to lurk in the waste | |
| That' s why I don' t trust, I hurdle through space | |
| With a thrust and peril is safe from the payback | |
| Cause where I stay you fight for a placemat | |
| And I don' t say cat, cause where I grew up that meant faggot | |
| But I do leaves tracks po' wed and flattered | |
| Staked in habit, daggered, when I unsheathe the mic from the scabbard | |
| And uphold the standard cause your fates borrowed | |
| So check the horrid scars on your face and forehead | |
| In hostile territory like foreign embassy | |
| LC start a war, now we' re the common enemy | |
| Execute you to a tight schedule | |
| Get the general, the rest are expendable | |
| Melt ya, every decibel held ya in a molten tank | |
| Until it' s over your scalp and there' s nothing left for burial | |
| Your aluminum in the smolder stay crushed, the heavy fuel | |
| Expels the metal shells in your shoulder | |
| Arial assault leave you pumped like a propeller |
| Verse 1: Bob Balans | |
| This is all out war with a fallout sure to cause a backlash | |
| I' ll bash you in the fucking face, I don' t stab backs | |
| Trends attacking rappers with a thirst for blood | |
| Submerge your body in a river shoved in a Persian rug | |
| Eternal come for curtains, that' s a certainty | |
| Leaving third degree burns from these first degree murder sprees | |
| Earning me and my verse and these words global praise | |
| I throw grenades when I' m floating to the shoulder blades | |
| I' m fire bug for hire shrugging a cop off | |
| Plug in the micro bomb, soft cocks until cum bust | |
| We from a long lost planet where rap is real | |
| Still intact and untapped by the mass appeal | |
| Market, LC spark and blast targets | |
| Master the craft and kick it raw like a carcass | |
| Lyrical Commission copping a pop and throw the blades | |
| We roll deeper in the streets than a motorcade | |
| Verse 2: Trem | |
| I' m barely breathing, bleeding, heart rate increasing | |
| It' s fire stakes, I can' t take fakes and thieves | |
| And past mistakes seep in through the gaps of my eye | |
| My aim nothing what it seems as I battle with snake charmers | |
| Paint you a portrait, I got a sword, just not cautious, do what I want | |
| My squads forces hard to handle like a grenade on detonation | |
| Rock the candles, a parade of devastation | |
| Defend the nation while I step inside your earlobes | |
| And carve you split of slick spits and I don' t fear no man | |
| You need heroes, all I want is beer, blow some weed and type speech | |
| Some beats and reap zero, disrespect, I hinder reps with heavy burden | |
| Get in your head, and leave you left for dead, they' re calling curtains | |
| This shit' s superb in your Cairo Walkman, go stalking an important | |
| Public figure' s son is a slick assassinator, four fours caught in an elixir | |
| Sworn to fascinate you with scorn sure in the mix, it' s life and death | |
| In this business, it' s kind of sad, but I define my track with death scriptures | |
| Verse 3: Celph Titled | |
| There ain' t a mother fucker been in more fights than me | |
| OG' s in my hood ain' t got more stripes than me | |
| Celph Titled is known to tote but when I ain' t packing | |
| I keep a buck fifty so we can get it cracking | |
| And if you throw slugs, you better pray they graze your chin | |
| You said you had an infrared, but that was just a laser pen | |
| Just the site of me will make you strain to breathe | |
| I shoot till I' m satisfied, I aim to please | |
| And you ain' t got more ammo than me, with clips there' s no contender | |
| In my house we keep gun oil in liquid soap dispensers | |
| You shouldn' t let your mouth flap, cause I' m a put you under | |
| And I ain' t talking about the Outback | |
| In New York I' m grungy, In Australia, I' m Dundee | |
| Cooking barbecue with just the smoke from my gun heat | |
| People get comfy with a pillow in the face | |
| The Demigodz and the Commission filling body bags by the case | |
| Verse 4: Brad Strut | |
| The world leaves the forgotten to lurk in the waste | |
| That' s why I don' t trust, I hurdle through space | |
| With a thrust and peril is safe from the payback | |
| Cause where I stay you fight for a placemat | |
| And I don' t say cat, cause where I grew up that meant faggot | |
| But I do leaves tracks po' wed and flattered | |
| Staked in habit, daggered, when I unsheathe the mic from the scabbard | |
| And uphold the standard cause your fates borrowed | |
| So check the horrid scars on your face and forehead | |
| In hostile territory like foreign embassy | |
| LC start a war, now we' re the common enemy | |
| Execute you to a tight schedule | |
| Get the general, the rest are expendable | |
| Melt ya, every decibel held ya in a molten tank | |
| Until it' s over your scalp and there' s nothing left for burial | |
| Your aluminum in the smolder stay crushed, the heavy fuel | |
| Expels the metal shells in your shoulder | |
| Arial assault leave you pumped like a propeller |
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