Tampa International Lyrics
| Song | Tampa International |
| Artist | Celph Titled |
| Album | The Gatalog: A Collection of Chaos |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| (Verse 1: Funkghost) | |
| Yo, fabulous movers, we do you like extravagant rulers | |
| With savage maneuvers, run through you | |
| Even cra*******ng computers, we get like Brian De Palma | |
| When applying the drama, we tie it up on ya | |
| Like messing with a flying parana | |
| We got a plan to vanish in the transatlantic | |
| When jams are planted while overseas my fans go frantic | |
| Put in plain we in the chain like we Jane Seymore | |
| But all you see is poetry and blood stained keyboards | |
| See lord that’s why we keep upping trouble knee deep | |
| Got receipts from when we bubbled at the double tree suite | |
| Foreign exchange its strange how we torn your frame | |
| So in the fame while others sound boring and lame | |
| The flavor we on, similar to Lela Rochon | |
| While haters are bomb, take it to a state of beyond | |
| Don Juan won ton, Egyptian musk a clips a bust designed | |
| And then dipped in plush, you know what | |
| Chorus | |
| In T-I we try to be hi | |
| And it lasts to the party don’t stop | |
| T-I we fly so see why | |
| Make your body rock | |
| The ******* flip, so sick, it don’t quit | |
| Got dough, just in case you don’t know | |
| The whole clique, so thick, so don’t slip | |
| Rock flows international | |
| (Verse 2: I-Man) | |
| Caught cra*******ng, ba*******ng, the lyrical point guard be sma*******ng | |
| The cement, international coming soon, peep the fa*******on | |
| It’s goons in masks and ass verbal good ass cra*******ng | |
| Sound spla*******ng, dancing on your grave monster ma*******ng | |
| Tango with ca*******ng, yo call me manimal, half man | |
| All the rest is primal animal, spiritual cannibal | |
| Dirty tricks, I got a handful, I’m dropping anvils | |
| On the wack cats that want to act like ******* damsels | |
| In distress, lyrical bench press on my chest | |
| Led slugs from a chrome snub, it’s hard to digest | |
| I guess wedlock, is deadlock, transform into grim rock | |
| Throw that ass in a headlock pile drive you down into bedrock | |
| Life’s a guy, why not block is Salem’s lot, no need for storyline | |
| Because my mind is the plot, I got it locked down from glock town | |
| To the shark clowns my rocks scrounge homie in any fly cop sounds | |
| Surround my four pound pop from the top of mound | |
| The god thunderous of war, call me Mr. Brown | |
| Chorus | |
| In T-I we try to be hi | |
| And it lasts to the party don’t stop | |
| T-I we fly so see why | |
| Make your body rock | |
| The ******* flip, so sick, it don’t quit | |
| Got dough, just in case you don’t know | |
| The whole clique, so thick, so don’t slip | |
| Rock flows international | |
| (Verse 3: Phobi One) | |
| The world’s a ghetto, typical thugs | |
| Plus the drugs, plus I shouldn’t settle | |
| Less is never pits and the rugs plush | |
| Jack of all trades, merchants of death | |
| And habitats crack on all phase | |
| The livest show, the one I’m rapping at | |
| Through the grapevine, | |
| Prime time define the great mind | |
| All your fake rhymes | |
| While mine *******nes on baselines, like a novelist | |
| Best seller books and the rap sheets | |
| Got all of this, fame the name, plus the fat beats | |
| The T-town, fun in the sun | |
| Subtropical, the beat down | |
| Chrome to your dome by drug mafias | |
| Loosen up, 20 ounce cups and kids boozing up | |
| Gin and coke, getting rope while me and ghost producing cuts | |
| Reanimate ball down and butter like Land O Lakes | |
| Can’t stand the taste of blood on the floor and cans of mace | |
| I don’t know why they try and battle P-H-O-B-I | |
| They up the creek knee high, cause I rip the skee-i | |
| (Verse 4: Celph Titled) | |
| Yo, behold the spectrum, T-P-A anthem | |
| From the don of the 8-1-3, Celph Titled, mystery | |
| From which my calculations equal that of shadows | |
| With no physical source, leaving inconclusive reports | |
| Unorthodox repertoire, composed of the Chrome Depot | |
| And the reservoir, dropping state metaphor | |
| I used to sell tapes out the trunk right next to the gun rack | |
| Where we keep the genie and the rugs at | |
| Fry the bullets out the barrel, make you eat the *******t | |
| Sample you screaming for help and make a beat with it | |
| Its simple science, that why my five star alliance holds | |
| Format contraptions, that’s Y2K compliant | |
| Funkghost network put you up on something | |
| Mega heat spray, lift you up with something | |
| It’s pirates of the Caribbean and I’m the Cuban | |
| Knowledge for the future, historic pollution | |
| Chorus | |
| In T-I we try to be hi | |
| And it lasts to the party don’t stop | |
| T-I we fly so see why | |
| Make your body rock | |
| The ******* flip, so sick, it don’t quit | |
| Got dough, just in case you don’t know | |
| The whole clique, so thick, so don’t slip | |
| Rock flows international |
| Verse 1: Funkghost | |
| Yo, fabulous movers, we do you like extravagant rulers | |
| With savage maneuvers, run through you | |
| Even cra ng computers, we get like Brian De Palma | |
| When applying the drama, we tie it up on ya | |
| Like messing with a flying parana | |
| We got a plan to vanish in the transatlantic | |
| When jams are planted while overseas my fans go frantic | |
| Put in plain we in the chain like we Jane Seymore | |
| But all you see is poetry and blood stained keyboards | |
| See lord that' s why we keep upping trouble knee deep | |
| Got receipts from when we bubbled at the double tree suite | |
| Foreign exchange its strange how we torn your frame | |
| So in the fame while others sound boring and lame | |
| The flavor we on, similar to Lela Rochon | |
| While haters are bomb, take it to a state of beyond | |
| Don Juan won ton, Egyptian musk a clips a bust designed | |
| And then dipped in plush, you know what | |
| Chorus | |
| In TI we try to be hi | |
| And it lasts to the party don' t stop | |
| TI we fly so see why | |
| Make your body rock | |
| The flip, so sick, it don' t quit | |
| Got dough, just in case you don' t know | |
| The whole clique, so thick, so don' t slip | |
| Rock flows international | |
| Verse 2: IMan | |
| Caught cra ng, ba ng, the lyrical point guard be sma ng | |
| The cement, international coming soon, peep the fa on | |
| It' s goons in masks and ass verbal good ass cra ng | |
| Sound spla ng, dancing on your grave monster ma ng | |
| Tango with ca ng, yo call me manimal, half man | |
| All the rest is primal animal, spiritual cannibal | |
| Dirty tricks, I got a handful, I' m dropping anvils | |
| On the wack cats that want to act like damsels | |
| In distress, lyrical bench press on my chest | |
| Led slugs from a chrome snub, it' s hard to digest | |
| I guess wedlock, is deadlock, transform into grim rock | |
| Throw that ass in a headlock pile drive you down into bedrock | |
| Life' s a guy, why not block is Salem' s lot, no need for storyline | |
| Because my mind is the plot, I got it locked down from glock town | |
| To the shark clowns my rocks scrounge homie in any fly cop sounds | |
| Surround my four pound pop from the top of mound | |
| The god thunderous of war, call me Mr. Brown | |
| Chorus | |
| In TI we try to be hi | |
| And it lasts to the party don' t stop | |
| TI we fly so see why | |
| Make your body rock | |
| The flip, so sick, it don' t quit | |
| Got dough, just in case you don' t know | |
| The whole clique, so thick, so don' t slip | |
| Rock flows international | |
| Verse 3: Phobi One | |
| The world' s a ghetto, typical thugs | |
| Plus the drugs, plus I shouldn' t settle | |
| Less is never pits and the rugs plush | |
| Jack of all trades, merchants of death | |
| And habitats crack on all phase | |
| The livest show, the one I' m rapping at | |
| Through the grapevine, | |
| Prime time define the great mind | |
| All your fake rhymes | |
| While mine nes on baselines, like a novelist | |
| Best seller books and the rap sheets | |
| Got all of this, fame the name, plus the fat beats | |
| The Ttown, fun in the sun | |
| Subtropical, the beat down | |
| Chrome to your dome by drug mafias | |
| Loosen up, 20 ounce cups and kids boozing up | |
| Gin and coke, getting rope while me and ghost producing cuts | |
| Reanimate ball down and butter like Land O Lakes | |
| Can' t stand the taste of blood on the floor and cans of mace | |
| I don' t know why they try and battle PHOBI | |
| They up the creek knee high, cause I rip the skeei | |
| Verse 4: Celph Titled | |
| Yo, behold the spectrum, TPA anthem | |
| From the don of the 813, Celph Titled, mystery | |
| From which my calculations equal that of shadows | |
| With no physical source, leaving inconclusive reports | |
| Unorthodox repertoire, composed of the Chrome Depot | |
| And the reservoir, dropping state metaphor | |
| I used to sell tapes out the trunk right next to the gun rack | |
| Where we keep the genie and the rugs at | |
| Fry the bullets out the barrel, make you eat the t | |
| Sample you screaming for help and make a beat with it | |
| Its simple science, that why my five star alliance holds | |
| Format contraptions, that' s Y2K compliant | |
| Funkghost network put you up on something | |
| Mega heat spray, lift you up with something | |
| It' s pirates of the Caribbean and I' m the Cuban | |
| Knowledge for the future, historic pollution | |
| Chorus | |
| In TI we try to be hi | |
| And it lasts to the party don' t stop | |
| TI we fly so see why | |
| Make your body rock | |
| The flip, so sick, it don' t quit | |
| Got dough, just in case you don' t know | |
| The whole clique, so thick, so don' t slip | |
| Rock flows international |
| Verse 1: Funkghost | |
| Yo, fabulous movers, we do you like extravagant rulers | |
| With savage maneuvers, run through you | |
| Even cra ng computers, we get like Brian De Palma | |
| When applying the drama, we tie it up on ya | |
| Like messing with a flying parana | |
| We got a plan to vanish in the transatlantic | |
| When jams are planted while overseas my fans go frantic | |
| Put in plain we in the chain like we Jane Seymore | |
| But all you see is poetry and blood stained keyboards | |
| See lord that' s why we keep upping trouble knee deep | |
| Got receipts from when we bubbled at the double tree suite | |
| Foreign exchange its strange how we torn your frame | |
| So in the fame while others sound boring and lame | |
| The flavor we on, similar to Lela Rochon | |
| While haters are bomb, take it to a state of beyond | |
| Don Juan won ton, Egyptian musk a clips a bust designed | |
| And then dipped in plush, you know what | |
| Chorus | |
| In TI we try to be hi | |
| And it lasts to the party don' t stop | |
| TI we fly so see why | |
| Make your body rock | |
| The flip, so sick, it don' t quit | |
| Got dough, just in case you don' t know | |
| The whole clique, so thick, so don' t slip | |
| Rock flows international | |
| Verse 2: IMan | |
| Caught cra ng, ba ng, the lyrical point guard be sma ng | |
| The cement, international coming soon, peep the fa on | |
| It' s goons in masks and ass verbal good ass cra ng | |
| Sound spla ng, dancing on your grave monster ma ng | |
| Tango with ca ng, yo call me manimal, half man | |
| All the rest is primal animal, spiritual cannibal | |
| Dirty tricks, I got a handful, I' m dropping anvils | |
| On the wack cats that want to act like damsels | |
| In distress, lyrical bench press on my chest | |
| Led slugs from a chrome snub, it' s hard to digest | |
| I guess wedlock, is deadlock, transform into grim rock | |
| Throw that ass in a headlock pile drive you down into bedrock | |
| Life' s a guy, why not block is Salem' s lot, no need for storyline | |
| Because my mind is the plot, I got it locked down from glock town | |
| To the shark clowns my rocks scrounge homie in any fly cop sounds | |
| Surround my four pound pop from the top of mound | |
| The god thunderous of war, call me Mr. Brown | |
| Chorus | |
| In TI we try to be hi | |
| And it lasts to the party don' t stop | |
| TI we fly so see why | |
| Make your body rock | |
| The flip, so sick, it don' t quit | |
| Got dough, just in case you don' t know | |
| The whole clique, so thick, so don' t slip | |
| Rock flows international | |
| Verse 3: Phobi One | |
| The world' s a ghetto, typical thugs | |
| Plus the drugs, plus I shouldn' t settle | |
| Less is never pits and the rugs plush | |
| Jack of all trades, merchants of death | |
| And habitats crack on all phase | |
| The livest show, the one I' m rapping at | |
| Through the grapevine, | |
| Prime time define the great mind | |
| All your fake rhymes | |
| While mine nes on baselines, like a novelist | |
| Best seller books and the rap sheets | |
| Got all of this, fame the name, plus the fat beats | |
| The Ttown, fun in the sun | |
| Subtropical, the beat down | |
| Chrome to your dome by drug mafias | |
| Loosen up, 20 ounce cups and kids boozing up | |
| Gin and coke, getting rope while me and ghost producing cuts | |
| Reanimate ball down and butter like Land O Lakes | |
| Can' t stand the taste of blood on the floor and cans of mace | |
| I don' t know why they try and battle PHOBI | |
| They up the creek knee high, cause I rip the skeei | |
| Verse 4: Celph Titled | |
| Yo, behold the spectrum, TPA anthem | |
| From the don of the 813, Celph Titled, mystery | |
| From which my calculations equal that of shadows | |
| With no physical source, leaving inconclusive reports | |
| Unorthodox repertoire, composed of the Chrome Depot | |
| And the reservoir, dropping state metaphor | |
| I used to sell tapes out the trunk right next to the gun rack | |
| Where we keep the genie and the rugs at | |
| Fry the bullets out the barrel, make you eat the t | |
| Sample you screaming for help and make a beat with it | |
| Its simple science, that why my five star alliance holds | |
| Format contraptions, that' s Y2K compliant | |
| Funkghost network put you up on something | |
| Mega heat spray, lift you up with something | |
| It' s pirates of the Caribbean and I' m the Cuban | |
| Knowledge for the future, historic pollution | |
| Chorus | |
| In TI we try to be hi | |
| And it lasts to the party don' t stop | |
| TI we fly so see why | |
| Make your body rock | |
| The flip, so sick, it don' t quit | |
| Got dough, just in case you don' t know | |
| The whole clique, so thick, so don' t slip | |
| Rock flows international |
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