Tropic States Lyrics
| Song | Tropic States |
| Artist | Celph Titled |
| Album | The Gatalog: A Collection of Chaos |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| (Intro: Tino Vega) | |
| Yeah, yo, yo new start baby, what | |
| Genix, all day every day, atomic, hard head baby | |
| (Verse 1: Tino Vega) | |
| Yo, yo, ay, yo in this two triple 0 spitting fire flow | |
| Through your team photos and hit me up | |
| Don’t give them Tampa hos a dime, they be shiesty | |
| Awful pricey, acting like they too hot for polar icees | |
| They want their diamond watches now, smell the power | |
| Watch me peel out, on a nigga dollar mountain biking | |
| You heard what jigga said right, get to bouncing | |
| Catch a cab or take a city bus ride or something | |
| No blunt puffing for you, what happened to you | |
| You used to be battle-able, this tragedy sounded very true | |
| See that chick in the berry blue skirt, she called me a jerk | |
| For working the wars too long, I had her on her knees and palms | |
| Screaming my song for treating me wrong | |
| The groupie soon to be singing along | |
| It takes not long at all just to feel what I’m on | |
| And Celph putting me on | |
| (And that’s the type of shit we on) | |
| (Verse 2: RK ) | |
| Ay, you it’s RK, running to kill | |
| Not your everyday run of the mill emcee | |
| That’s running the field with guns full of steel | |
| Navigating the globe with a compass and shield | |
| I don’t fumble for real, run though block stumbling steel | |
| While rupturing shield and crumpling heels | |
| Living large, dog, but I’m still hungry for mills | |
| I was summoned for skill but let niggas know, lord is coming for real | |
| Covered in teal, with hundreds of pills, cause we popping at will | |
| We mad enough to pop shots at your bill | |
| And in the meantime, we shopping for deals | |
| With lots of appeal, I got to rhyme like a klepto has to steal | |
| I spit more heat than a glock in your grill | |
| Noting I got is concealed, easily seen like you watching a film | |
| Everything I spit they dropping it real | |
| My words are like motion pictures grubbing for mills | |
| RK the hip hop equivalent of Steven Speil | |
| (Verse 3: Murdock) | |
| Ay, yo we make it happen, never slacking up on the macking | |
| I’m in the money trap in a platinum plaque, jacking | |
| Don’t get caught slipping, mic ripping and cris sipping | |
| 32 glocks spitting infinite rounds when I start flipping | |
| I ain’t tripping, leave your faggoty poverty stricken | |
| My clique will stay shitting and passing out verbal ass whippings | |
| Whether air max, air Jordan’s or Bo Jackson, never relax | |
| And catch a reaction asking for action | |
| It’s Murdock, I know that you hate that I’m rapping | |
| Cocky and jaw clapping cheesing and cheek smacking | |
| You in the club acting, talking about y’all clapping | |
| Ran up on the real, got dropped and ain’t know what happened | |
| (Verse 4: Primetyme) | |
| I’m impossible to burn like TV dinners, impossible to document | |
| You might as well do a project on Blair Witches | |
| Impossible to cross like barbed wired fences | |
| Impossible to peel off like dentures, once I'm hard in your grill like dentists | |
| While you struggle that, I’m juggling bowling pins and play tennis | |
| Some say that I’m cocky and arrogant | |
| Some say my genius is like the shit hidden in Roswell with other evidence | |
| You all bitch like feminists injected with extra estrogen | |
| I don’t play no more, that went out with little league baseball | |
| A high intelligence, you ain’t ready for what I got in store | |
| Further more, you don’t compare to me, not even barely | |
| I have you hiding in the attic with Anne Frank and her family | |
| (Verse 5: Dutchmassive) | |
| Listen when I speak, your whole crew’s delivery is weak | |
| Fuck peace, I want beef, let’s take it to the streets | |
| I eat your whole squad and spit out odd dismembered globs of kids | |
| Who acting hard and got they body frame scarred | |
| You jumping out of cars, we jumping out of planes, survive the impact | |
| And gat you on a subway train (train, train) the Dutchmassive motto | |
| Finish the whole bottle, get weeded and leave your chest hollow | |
| Hollering at whores you hang around with, the loudest pipers in the club | |
| (No doubt, kid) Mega hard junk planet bombard your stereo, scenario | |
| F-L-A team get the dinero | |
| (Verse 6: Celph Titled) | |
| When Celph Titled and the track collide | |
| You see worldwide action | |
| International united chrome passion, | |
| Apocalyptic impact that make your bones quiver | |
| My sixth sense is to rob from holy water rivers | |
| And all them other niggas | |
| That don’t speak the truth about the God supreme, | |
| A sala to bomb regime | |
| Poly-ing with aolites up in the synagogue | |
| Accurate to details, minus the etcetera | |
| My father told me to bust first, remain calm | |
| And recited words you’ll find in the same song | |
| Unique wisdom, centennial prophesies | |
| 8-1-3 monopoly, my Vietnam philosophy | |
| (Verse 7: Vocab) | |
| Sometimes I might bust first depending on my mood | |
| Whether I’m bent or sober, or just laying in a coma | |
| My girl standing next to me saying it’s over | |
| But the only one who could judge me is Jehovah | |
| He was there when I was O-D’d in a coma | |
| My whole world was frozen, thought I was one of the chosen | |
| My life was only worth what you holding | |
| A blue beeper and a dime sack of reefer | |
| 20 dollars in my wallet and not a damn cent of profit | |
| Sick and tired of living this way, I’ve got to make it | |
| They legislate rules so I could break it | |
| 10, 20, fuck life, I’ve got to kill niggas to make it | |
| And your boy going to eat, so don’t get it mistaken | |
| I’m trying to count hundos until my wrist be shaking |
| Intro: Tino Vega | |
| Yeah, yo, yo new start baby, what | |
| Genix, all day every day, atomic, hard head baby | |
| Verse 1: Tino Vega | |
| Yo, yo, ay, yo in this two triple 0 spitting fire flow | |
| Through your team photos and hit me up | |
| Don' t give them Tampa hos a dime, they be shiesty | |
| Awful pricey, acting like they too hot for polar icees | |
| They want their diamond watches now, smell the power | |
| Watch me peel out, on a nigga dollar mountain biking | |
| You heard what jigga said right, get to bouncing | |
| Catch a cab or take a city bus ride or something | |
| No blunt puffing for you, what happened to you | |
| You used to be battleable, this tragedy sounded very true | |
| See that chick in the berry blue skirt, she called me a jerk | |
| For working the wars too long, I had her on her knees and palms | |
| Screaming my song for treating me wrong | |
| The groupie soon to be singing along | |
| It takes not long at all just to feel what I' m on | |
| And Celph putting me on | |
| And that' s the type of shit we on | |
| Verse 2: RK | |
| Ay, you it' s RK, running to kill | |
| Not your everyday run of the mill emcee | |
| That' s running the field with guns full of steel | |
| Navigating the globe with a compass and shield | |
| I don' t fumble for real, run though block stumbling steel | |
| While rupturing shield and crumpling heels | |
| Living large, dog, but I' m still hungry for mills | |
| I was summoned for skill but let niggas know, lord is coming for real | |
| Covered in teal, with hundreds of pills, cause we popping at will | |
| We mad enough to pop shots at your bill | |
| And in the meantime, we shopping for deals | |
| With lots of appeal, I got to rhyme like a klepto has to steal | |
| I spit more heat than a glock in your grill | |
| Noting I got is concealed, easily seen like you watching a film | |
| Everything I spit they dropping it real | |
| My words are like motion pictures grubbing for mills | |
| RK the hip hop equivalent of Steven Speil | |
| Verse 3: Murdock | |
| Ay, yo we make it happen, never slacking up on the macking | |
| I' m in the money trap in a platinum plaque, jacking | |
| Don' t get caught slipping, mic ripping and cris sipping | |
| 32 glocks spitting infinite rounds when I start flipping | |
| I ain' t tripping, leave your faggoty poverty stricken | |
| My clique will stay shitting and passing out verbal ass whippings | |
| Whether air max, air Jordan' s or Bo Jackson, never relax | |
| And catch a reaction asking for action | |
| It' s Murdock, I know that you hate that I' m rapping | |
| Cocky and jaw clapping cheesing and cheek smacking | |
| You in the club acting, talking about y' all clapping | |
| Ran up on the real, got dropped and ain' t know what happened | |
| Verse 4: Primetyme | |
| I' m impossible to burn like TV dinners, impossible to document | |
| You might as well do a project on Blair Witches | |
| Impossible to cross like barbed wired fences | |
| Impossible to peel off like dentures, once I' m hard in your grill like dentists | |
| While you struggle that, I' m juggling bowling pins and play tennis | |
| Some say that I' m cocky and arrogant | |
| Some say my genius is like the shit hidden in Roswell with other evidence | |
| You all bitch like feminists injected with extra estrogen | |
| I don' t play no more, that went out with little league baseball | |
| A high intelligence, you ain' t ready for what I got in store | |
| Further more, you don' t compare to me, not even barely | |
| I have you hiding in the attic with Anne Frank and her family | |
| Verse 5: Dutchmassive | |
| Listen when I speak, your whole crew' s delivery is weak | |
| Fuck peace, I want beef, let' s take it to the streets | |
| I eat your whole squad and spit out odd dismembered globs of kids | |
| Who acting hard and got they body frame scarred | |
| You jumping out of cars, we jumping out of planes, survive the impact | |
| And gat you on a subway train train, train the Dutchmassive motto | |
| Finish the whole bottle, get weeded and leave your chest hollow | |
| Hollering at whores you hang around with, the loudest pipers in the club | |
| No doubt, kid Mega hard junk planet bombard your stereo, scenario | |
| FLA team get the dinero | |
| Verse 6: Celph Titled | |
| When Celph Titled and the track collide | |
| You see worldwide action | |
| International united chrome passion, | |
| Apocalyptic impact that make your bones quiver | |
| My sixth sense is to rob from holy water rivers | |
| And all them other niggas | |
| That don' t speak the truth about the God supreme, | |
| A sala to bomb regime | |
| Polying with aolites up in the synagogue | |
| Accurate to details, minus the etcetera | |
| My father told me to bust first, remain calm | |
| And recited words you' ll find in the same song | |
| Unique wisdom, centennial prophesies | |
| 813 monopoly, my Vietnam philosophy | |
| Verse 7: Vocab | |
| Sometimes I might bust first depending on my mood | |
| Whether I' m bent or sober, or just laying in a coma | |
| My girl standing next to me saying it' s over | |
| But the only one who could judge me is Jehovah | |
| He was there when I was OD' d in a coma | |
| My whole world was frozen, thought I was one of the chosen | |
| My life was only worth what you holding | |
| A blue beeper and a dime sack of reefer | |
| 20 dollars in my wallet and not a damn cent of profit | |
| Sick and tired of living this way, I' ve got to make it | |
| They legislate rules so I could break it | |
| 10, 20, fuck life, I' ve got to kill niggas to make it | |
| And your boy going to eat, so don' t get it mistaken | |
| I' m trying to count hundos until my wrist be shaking |
| Intro: Tino Vega | |
| Yeah, yo, yo new start baby, what | |
| Genix, all day every day, atomic, hard head baby | |
| Verse 1: Tino Vega | |
| Yo, yo, ay, yo in this two triple 0 spitting fire flow | |
| Through your team photos and hit me up | |
| Don' t give them Tampa hos a dime, they be shiesty | |
| Awful pricey, acting like they too hot for polar icees | |
| They want their diamond watches now, smell the power | |
| Watch me peel out, on a nigga dollar mountain biking | |
| You heard what jigga said right, get to bouncing | |
| Catch a cab or take a city bus ride or something | |
| No blunt puffing for you, what happened to you | |
| You used to be battleable, this tragedy sounded very true | |
| See that chick in the berry blue skirt, she called me a jerk | |
| For working the wars too long, I had her on her knees and palms | |
| Screaming my song for treating me wrong | |
| The groupie soon to be singing along | |
| It takes not long at all just to feel what I' m on | |
| And Celph putting me on | |
| And that' s the type of shit we on | |
| Verse 2: RK | |
| Ay, you it' s RK, running to kill | |
| Not your everyday run of the mill emcee | |
| That' s running the field with guns full of steel | |
| Navigating the globe with a compass and shield | |
| I don' t fumble for real, run though block stumbling steel | |
| While rupturing shield and crumpling heels | |
| Living large, dog, but I' m still hungry for mills | |
| I was summoned for skill but let niggas know, lord is coming for real | |
| Covered in teal, with hundreds of pills, cause we popping at will | |
| We mad enough to pop shots at your bill | |
| And in the meantime, we shopping for deals | |
| With lots of appeal, I got to rhyme like a klepto has to steal | |
| I spit more heat than a glock in your grill | |
| Noting I got is concealed, easily seen like you watching a film | |
| Everything I spit they dropping it real | |
| My words are like motion pictures grubbing for mills | |
| RK the hip hop equivalent of Steven Speil | |
| Verse 3: Murdock | |
| Ay, yo we make it happen, never slacking up on the macking | |
| I' m in the money trap in a platinum plaque, jacking | |
| Don' t get caught slipping, mic ripping and cris sipping | |
| 32 glocks spitting infinite rounds when I start flipping | |
| I ain' t tripping, leave your faggoty poverty stricken | |
| My clique will stay shitting and passing out verbal ass whippings | |
| Whether air max, air Jordan' s or Bo Jackson, never relax | |
| And catch a reaction asking for action | |
| It' s Murdock, I know that you hate that I' m rapping | |
| Cocky and jaw clapping cheesing and cheek smacking | |
| You in the club acting, talking about y' all clapping | |
| Ran up on the real, got dropped and ain' t know what happened | |
| Verse 4: Primetyme | |
| I' m impossible to burn like TV dinners, impossible to document | |
| You might as well do a project on Blair Witches | |
| Impossible to cross like barbed wired fences | |
| Impossible to peel off like dentures, once I' m hard in your grill like dentists | |
| While you struggle that, I' m juggling bowling pins and play tennis | |
| Some say that I' m cocky and arrogant | |
| Some say my genius is like the shit hidden in Roswell with other evidence | |
| You all bitch like feminists injected with extra estrogen | |
| I don' t play no more, that went out with little league baseball | |
| A high intelligence, you ain' t ready for what I got in store | |
| Further more, you don' t compare to me, not even barely | |
| I have you hiding in the attic with Anne Frank and her family | |
| Verse 5: Dutchmassive | |
| Listen when I speak, your whole crew' s delivery is weak | |
| Fuck peace, I want beef, let' s take it to the streets | |
| I eat your whole squad and spit out odd dismembered globs of kids | |
| Who acting hard and got they body frame scarred | |
| You jumping out of cars, we jumping out of planes, survive the impact | |
| And gat you on a subway train train, train the Dutchmassive motto | |
| Finish the whole bottle, get weeded and leave your chest hollow | |
| Hollering at whores you hang around with, the loudest pipers in the club | |
| No doubt, kid Mega hard junk planet bombard your stereo, scenario | |
| FLA team get the dinero | |
| Verse 6: Celph Titled | |
| When Celph Titled and the track collide | |
| You see worldwide action | |
| International united chrome passion, | |
| Apocalyptic impact that make your bones quiver | |
| My sixth sense is to rob from holy water rivers | |
| And all them other niggas | |
| That don' t speak the truth about the God supreme, | |
| A sala to bomb regime | |
| Polying with aolites up in the synagogue | |
| Accurate to details, minus the etcetera | |
| My father told me to bust first, remain calm | |
| And recited words you' ll find in the same song | |
| Unique wisdom, centennial prophesies | |
| 813 monopoly, my Vietnam philosophy | |
| Verse 7: Vocab | |
| Sometimes I might bust first depending on my mood | |
| Whether I' m bent or sober, or just laying in a coma | |
| My girl standing next to me saying it' s over | |
| But the only one who could judge me is Jehovah | |
| He was there when I was OD' d in a coma | |
| My whole world was frozen, thought I was one of the chosen | |
| My life was only worth what you holding | |
| A blue beeper and a dime sack of reefer | |
| 20 dollars in my wallet and not a damn cent of profit | |
| Sick and tired of living this way, I' ve got to make it | |
| They legislate rules so I could break it | |
| 10, 20, fuck life, I' ve got to kill niggas to make it | |
| And your boy going to eat, so don' t get it mistaken | |
| I' m trying to count hundos until my wrist be shaking |
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