Yout Ain't Seen It Comin' Testo

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Testo Yout Ain't Seen It Comin'

Are. You. Ready?!
Another Celph Titled motherfuckin' banger. Bllllllat!
Yeah, uh huh. Hehehehe. Awe man, motherfuckers, 813, that's right baby
Highcollide, Paradox, uh huh, Celph Titled
The motherfuckin' Rubix Cuban
Yo let's show them how we get down
Yes, yes. Yeah, okay, you ready? Tampa representatives
Let's murder them. It's goin' down. Check it, yo. Fuck that
[Verse One] [Highcollide]
I had a glock and held rifles
A million mega watts, it's Paradox and Celph Titled
You busters are not ready
Rugged and drop deadly
Touch as a pot heavy
In buckets in box Chevy's
My flow's destine, I'm a veteran at work
Leave your soul in the heavens and your skeleton in the dirt
If it ain't love that you feelin' than it's probably pain
Strike ya with Tampa Bay Lightning like a hockey game
I'm a flow specialist, I conquer the globe's premises
The most treacherous
Over your debt, toast beverages
Leavin' ya motionless while I'm causin' eclipses
Supreme vocalist, happen to be forced in existence
I'm electrical lyrically, fire like the sun
You'll need medical facilities or retirement funds
This is a Cuban
Puerto Rican connection
Seekin' perfection
Competition is needin' direction
A speakers craft
Sayin' I'm ill is like sayin' a cheetah's fast
I keep it movin' like a hundred meter dash
I'm too ferocious with
Styles that leave you hopelessness
Know who you provokin' bitch
You fuckin' with the ultimate

[Scratch chorus] [x2]
"Picture like you ain't seen it coming" - Paradox
"Yo, it's all extortion, for every man there's a coffin" - Highcollide
"I get's down and do my thing like I supposed to"
"Niggas is on attack"
"What the fuck was y'all thinkin'" - Fat Joe 'Find Out'

[Verse Two] [Paradox]
Watch me crack open the sky, blacken your eye
Then leave you strokin' on the ropes swingin' eight miles high
Now I'm watchin' you die
Askin' why
You testin' X, is you mental?
(These motherfuckers out they mind)
I be X Spawn, reborn with Tampa Bay residue
So bring the best of your crew
Learn a lesson or two
Invest in a vest or a preacher to start blessin' you
Believe it, this urban legend is true
For hip hop I'll bludgeon a fool
Cut 'em in two
Leave a muttering fool, with nothing to do
But speaks in forked tongues like a stuttering fool
I lurk in the home of southern crunk
Where cats get jumped
(And what)
We got the sawed off shotgun hands on the pump
I have sex with fly dimes and gangster bitches that pack nines
While I'm poppin' silencers
Writin' rhymes, gettin' my shine
I'm in this game for the love of the art
Comin' straight for your heart
Though some of y'all been hatin' me
Straight from the start
Paradox the black sheep of the Bay
(Where it get's dark)
The Judas creator
Crucify me now, but I resurrect three days later
Much greater
As one red eye Terminator
(You want more then we blazin' ya)
Tearin' flesh apart like a Florida gator
Made you afraid of the dark
Wish it was morning instead
Surprise somebody
Here comes the dawn of the dead

[Scratch Chorus] [x2]
"Picture like you ain't seen it coming" - Paradox
"Yo, it's all extortion, for every man there's a coffin" - Highcollide
"I get's down and do my thing like I supposed to"
"Niggas is on attack"
"What the fuck was y'all thinkin'" - Fat Joe 'Find Out'

[Verse Three] [Celph Titled]
Y'all motherfuckers better fall back
You're talkin' to a kingpin
Who write holy scriptures on a napkin with an ink pen
And y'all ain't real unless you on Floridian realty
Cause we don't keep it dirty down here we keep it filthy
I'm all over Tampa like Bob's Barricades
With bombs and grenades at your mother's crib givin' her serenade
Up in the club I might have snuck in a snub
So if it's beef bring the ruckus and a bucket for blood
And don't think we're gonna meet you outside just to thug
We gonna meet you outside with the pump
And the buckshot from the gauge will give you acne scars
Clap at me from your whip
I'm launchin' missile that'll lift the gravity out your car
Fuck your pistol burners
Cause we got motherfuckin' handguns
That spit shells the size of Crystal Burgers
Duckin' the cops, leavin' you motherfuckers stuck in a box
Fuck bubblin' rocks
I'm like the government up in my stocks
But up in the oven it's hot
We cook blazin' rap cakes
While y'all wack fakes make DAT tapes that's half baked
I'm sick, make a crack mother lactate
And let the mac take thirty pounds out of your estimated body weight

[Scratch Chorus] [x2]