Texty: Celph Titled & Buckwild. Nineteen Ninety Now. The Deal Maker.

[Talking Intro:]
The Landmine Lieutenant, in the muthafuckin' house
We 'bout to do it like this...

[Verse 1:]
I hold the record for the most ignorant rhymes said
That'll knock that cowboy hat off of Imus' head
Catch me on the Food Network and watch me handle beef
2 letters: I'm O.T., 2 words: I'm gettin' money
2 verses: I'm gettin' twenty
And that's thousands
Hoo-ridin' through L.A. in a Bronco with Al Cowlings
The head honcho, I'm out browsin'
And I ain't lookin' for bulletproof Hummers, just for bullets that shoot Hummers
And Beamers with moonroofs for the summer
For easy access to jump out poppin' and turn ya brains to au grautin
Rotten, as a young kid I never was the dude to call
Too busy turnin' G.I. Joes into voodoo dolls
Put my cigarette out on ya nose
Get blood on my suit? I got a thousand of those
Can't come close, my discography's the one with the most
Cause I appear on more tracks than Dale Earnhardt's ghost
If you approach, I'll murder though
My gun flip more shells than the Ninja Turtle show
This is my movie in 3-D, slice ya neck with a Fugees CD
And stick Lauryn Hill with the coroner's bill

[Sample-Looped Chorus: x4]
"Ha, ha-ha-ha, and we do like this, and we do it like this, and we do it like... "

[Verse 2:]
Muthafuckin' Celph Titled is back (yeah!) you can't the diminish fact
I pull the panties off of feminine acts
And with Sinista on the scratch (maaaan)
You know I'm rippin' this wax cause Buckwild came with the pimpinest track
And with style and grace, I'll punch a guy in his face
("Wipe out, remove, erase and annihilate")
Yeah, that's how I move when I swing
And like Ben Grimm's wife, you ain't doin' a Thing
I done been ripped mics from Australia to Queens
Smacked wack labels up for bogus shit they released
And when Moses split the seas
I jumped the gap on water skis (Did you look back?) Nah, nothin' more to see
Cause on my Island, there's no sign of Def Jam
Won't sign with left hand, right hand, Aight? SCRAM!
I shine bright next to mic stands
Might just blind ya eye sight and give ya hype man a slight tan

[Sample-Looped Chorus: x4] "Ha, ha-ha-ha, and we do like this, and we do it like this, and we do it like... "

[Verse 3:]
Rough enough when I swing with a uppercut
Yellin' at rappers like a megaphone with the button stuck
Kerosene, pour quarts out, in front of the court house
Light a match and in a calm manner I walk out
In Atlanta I bring the Hawks out
These are Doberman jaws, I looked over and saw you had a small snout
Do I catch wreck? Hell yeah
I'm the Fresh Prince of Hell's Lair, y'all better get some healthcare
Fuckin' with Celph's rare, not too many wanna do it
But the ones that did got they record label ruined
Made you switch angles, somethin' ain't lookin' right
Underground rappers turned to Criss Angel lookalikes?
That's what a faggot's lookin' like, so fuck anybody that knows ya
You a coward and a poser
I'm about flows that roast ya
Your shit's dead, it's leftover french bread from Stouffers burnt in my toaster
Certainly it's over, y'all gotta start with a new scheme
Your goofball Ron Burgundy news team
Ain't bringin' the forecast
My hurricane cyclone attack leave you with your bones cracked and four casts

[Sample-Looped Chorus: x4]
"Ha, ha-ha-ha, and we do like this, and we do it like this, and we do it like... "

[Scratch & Sample Outro:]
"Like this! "
"A one-two, a checka one-two"