Floss Filthy-Celph Titled/Big Scoob

[Chorus] [Apathy] [x2] It's all gangstas gangstas at the top of the list So I play my own s**t it goes something like this [Verse One] [Apathy] You can try to shoot a pistol but the wounds are superficial In comparison to heroine addiction when it hits you We're proud to be Americans when arrogance is in you From the second the vagina spits you till you're dyin' a cripple The crime is when we're killin' innocent Iraqi children But what? We should turn to pacifism till crash into our buildings Till the gasses start spillin' over masses of civilians Tryin' to massacre a billion when they pack a transistor into your fillings When the governments the villains When they watch with hidden cameras that's up inside your ceilings It's cold at night Even in the summer I shake I crumble and break while dirty bombs thunder and quake I feel philosophical now, with all that Apathy knows Reality blows So I watch reality shows And feel blanketed when television circuits are bright I'm searchin' at night To channel surf until the perfect light Purchase a wife While fabricated idols gets activated Originality was assassinated I cried when it died Screamin' to help stop the bleedin' But nobody understood the strange language I was speakin' I'm over your head Oversize fitted are skull caps I radiate the way Aviator jackets and throwbacks I go back Before the Rittlin and the Prozac When rap was pro-black You suckers don't know Ap I rip mics But only solve problems with fist fights Just because I'm smooth don't mean that I treat a B***h right My insight extends from sunlight to the twilight But at night I'm ignorant and can't get my mind right [Chorus] [Apathy] [x4] It's all gangstas gangstas at the top of the list So I play my own s**t it goes something like this [Verse Two] [Celph Titled] Yo I ain't tryin' to hear nothin' from you so save it No demo tapes I'm only listenin' to my favorites of classic rap greatest hits Why at one time was hip hop music so sacred Now they made it so easy, kids with home computers is makin' it I remember studio sessions were special DAT machines and reel to reels, no CD burners and no mass appeal Too much of somethin' is not good, on the contrary The rap telemarketers are chief executive officer Board room O.G.s in leather swivel chairs Laughin' at the s**t we talkin', all them oversize clothes we wear But f**k it We sell murder And sell to herds of Children who hear the same s**t that's used to sell burgers But I ain't sympathizin' and you heard it from the horse's mouth Cause I'll bust guns and turn happy homes to an orphan's house One of the best in rap's history to hold a mic And real Cuban who thinks the movie Scarface is over hyped So all you rappers scratch it off your favorite movie list Or find yourself bleeding next to a pile of empty uzi clips Stop idolizin' Get your own style I ain't rockin' gold teeth cause they'll provoke me to smile Though for a while I looked for hope but couldn't see any And it didn't look right like a mohawk on P. Diddy Get them some cheese cake to flaunt But I'd rather sell 3H to juniors and I ain't talkin' about the restaurant [Chorus] [Apathy] [x4] It's all gangstas gangstas at the top of the list So I play my own s**t it goes something like this