Lyrics:

Yeah, Chelsea Clinton. Where you at bitch?

(Celph Titled speaking)
Yeah you monkey motherfuckers.
This is Celph Titled, the motherfuckin' Trife-A-Saurus Rex.
And I've got my motherfuckin nigga Majik Most.
About to molest every female bitch in your fuckin' family.
You want more info? Dial 1-900-Get-Fucked-Up.
For twenty-five stitches a minute.
I don't give a fuck if you're handicapped.
You talk that shit, I'll bust a handy cap in that ass.
Yo, Majik, bust them in the head and leave 'em retarded.
Bring that shit nigga!

[Majik Most]:
Majik Most is here now, stop tryin' to rhyme
Even your mom says you just wastin' your time
I'll catch you in line as you apply for Medicaid
And beat you in the skull with a prosthetic leg
Majik's got it made all in-between your girls thighs
Any tough guys get smashed and pulverized
I'm off the hook like fish alibi's
Why diss?
It's high risk, try this, die quick in your whip
With a windshield wiper through your iris
You not feelin' this?
I'll crush your grandmothers hip
Then strip the emergency bracelet off her wrist
I love to shoot the gift
Man I rock a Santa suit when inside a vocal booth
I'll blast you through the roof
Just to show and prove
Oh you still want beef? (ah ha ha)
I'll bust your chops
Fuck you up like a Cyclops
In a weed spot with no eye drops
Motherfuckers
Hip hop is back (yeah yeah)
But you're a faggot in drag
Rockin' a dress
That used to be your dads
I'll choke you with your do-rag
Slam you on a concrete slab
Oh you mad?!
Cause Majik Most is so dope, I whack kids
Hijack the city bus with my man Dutch Massive
Hit the strip club
Celph and Ap got free passes
Every verse I write, considered classic

(Apathy)
A suplex Superman like a girl in a skirt
Bury you in the dirt
Rappers get placed in a world of hurt
You tryin' to mack a dame but your game doesn't work
You should feel lame and ashamed when you go home and jerk
'Cause I be havin' big titty bitches buying my shirt
While you lurkin' in the bushes with a perverted smirk
So jealous of the way I be ridin' the track
You put your walkman on my rap
And fantasize that you're Ap
But I'll be shittin' on you nerd motherfuckers for fun
Till I make you mad enough to come to school with a gun
Beat you up until you cry and take your money for lunch
They'll be mopping up your face by the twentieth punch
You faggots get ghost
Puttin' holes in the fabric of clothes
My automatic blows metal through the back of your domes
I'm mackin' your hoes
Rapid flows that'll roast opponents
Who play me close or battle with Majik Most

(Louis Logic)
Stop a second and drop your weapon bitch (biiitch!)
I meant to kill you back when the doctor stepped in
And said your mom was pregnant
Stomp the section of her stomach
Where a baby doll sleeps
Roast beef with both feet
Wearing weighted golf cleats
Leave behind a blood trail and a bottle of Seagram's Gin
Covered in my bloody finger print and blame my evil twin
But since I didn't see you there
I'll burn your studio
I'll fill you with warm slugs like you turned marsupial
I'm like a savage bushman
Chargin' through the outback
I'll kick you in your asses cushion
Whether with or without rap
Whether with or without Ap,
Celph or Majik Most
I'll smash your nose
And drag your ghost right out from your fractured bones
I'll have your folks singin' church songs, dressed in black
Your former fans only question asked is
'Where has that herb gone?'
I'll stab you
Carve you with a sharp knife and tag you
With bad news
So you know my name and what have you

(Celph Titled)
A lot of rappers gonna die this year and that's the truth
And I'll probably end up responsible for a few
Communication ain't a problem
My guns speak all languages
Gimme what I want
Or be a dumb nigga, brainless!
I'm the complete opposite with drug fiend chicks
I know straight-edge bitches that'll smoke crack to suck my dick
Floss through the hood and stack chips by the cases
I've got more whips than a slave-master dominatrix
I won't even do a cameo
I get paid for my ad-libs
Visit your girl and fuck her from her baby-back ribs
You might as well go snow skiing or somethin'
It's your only chance to rock ice without frontin'
Throw a monkey wrench in your program
Make you go ape shit
Attach your head to a launching space ship
Give you a face lift
It's basic
Bury your corpse under the basement
I'm ill enough to start a drug war with the Jamaicans
Don't make me have to pop your collar bone
Put the silence on the chrome
And let my Rottweilers roam
Thirsty for blood
Ready to shatter your brain
I talk a lot of shit on records but I can back up my claims
Motherfucker!