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wussdaplan (original promo sampler version) - cella dwellas lyrics

cella dwellas * “wussdaplan (original promo sampler version)”
[emcee(s): phantasm and u.g.]
[producer(s): cella dwellas (phantasm & u.g.)]
[keyboards: dj slice]

[intro: cella dwellas]
phantasm: heads better recognize the flavor. cds coming through
u.g.: yeah, yeah, cella dwellas like that. yeah, yeah! know’m saying? recognize
phantasm: what’s up in new orleans?
u.g.: yeah, what’s the plan in j*pan, nah’mean?
phantasm: out in the carolinas?
u.g.: word up, in va, what?
phantasm: out in florida
u.g.: you know’m saying? all over, we’re representing, you know’m saying? letting y’all know how we do, son
phantasm: yeah
u.g.: but you know what? bless ‘em real quick

[verse 1: phantasm]
phantasm, cella dwellas repping, no question
duck down in bucktown when i draw smif*n*wessun
these crab emcees, their “time’s up”—quoted by o.c
they’re faking jacks and they’re p*ssycat like josie
the g*lock spits hot shots and rock n*ggas’ knots
the infrared to the head means x marks the spot, guns
clap, wigs get pushed back when i let off big
caps and ride beats like amtraks. if you
need tracks like these, lace the dwellas with four g’s
we won’t charge you eight joints and five royalty points
(yeah) any man i’ll slaughter (slaughter). glad i got a son
not a daughter, thinking ‘bout this five*and*a*quarter
bm. see, them fronting n*ggas is crabs. when i
bust aks like arabs, they get peeled like scabs
every time i speak sh*t, i freak sh*t
cds always coming with that unique sh*t
ha!
[verse 2: u.g.]
son
don’t sweat it. automatic embedded in my waistline
taste wine, hang with cats that do crime
two nines like larry fishburne in deep cover
puta, shoot ya, knock off your future
dreams of bellies and cream, money wrapped in rubber bands
and money clips, trips, cruises around the globe
tommy robe, open*toed slippers, fila
see eyes thick, fly like an insect. inject
sick thoughts, polo sport, fragrance lingering (yeah)
[?] on my finger and (yeah) gucci [?] jingling (true)
mingling with thugs with scarred mugs as trademarks
to spark lye, exhale and smoke with a wigged eye (uh huh)
think i can’t keep it real or we’re faking (what?)
jacks? hit you with the mac and leave your body shaking
face*down, blowing bubbles in dirty puddles
of water. i slaughter kids [?]
aaahhh!

[interlude: cella dwellas]
phantasm: phantasm and u.g
u.g.: word up, representing
phantasm: true lyrical sk!lls
u.g.: know’m saying?
phantasm: out in london
u.g.: word up, in europe and all that, you nah’mean?
phantasm: ha!
[verse 3: phantasm]
back again, it’s
the cella*to*the*dwella, phan*to*the*tasm
tall*to*the*man, u.*to*the*g. what’s the plan?
i got sk!lls for years and start to ill
when i down more beers than norm from cheers
here we go, yo. what’s the “scenario” like
tribe and leaders, lighting n*ggas up with the heaters
props for blocks and block skins, flocks and flocks
guns, glocks, and glocks. girls? i got ‘em locked
who crew wants to test? then you’ll get tossed like salad
dressing ‘cause we be the best in this profession—that’s
no question. f*ck every station that fronted on airplay
when they know the dwellas do damage like x*rays
some think s*x plays an important role in hip hop
but i won’t stop ‘til i get my props and have sh*t locked like fort knox
all i need is my n*gga u.g., an mpc, and an sp
good promotion, two videos, and we’ll rule the industry
who you be? your homies got you gassed like getty. we got
you charged like eveready. talking “let’s battle”? that sh*t is petty
you got no clout, no name, no label. this is
food on my table. n*gga, your highest bill is cable
i’m out, but no doubt i’ll be back again. phan*
*tasm, cella dwellas representing brooklyn

[verse 4: u.g.]
check it
gats pop like champagne tops on new year’s
at foes, packed shows get slammed like dominoes—hah!
flows composed to off*beat head*bop or make
pit*stops, my neck drops when the snare pops—hah!
my vocabs jab like ali backpedaling
i’m quick to snap a n… dressed with some vice grips
why i snip smart*aleck emcees like scissors
for pleasure, then (*fighting sounds*) like wu*tang’s records
i pack heat like the sun (yeah), n*ggas get done
when the pum*pum gets flung from the gun (yeah)
no bullsh*tting (what?), i’ll pull quick, reload, then fill a
nine, then bust shots like john woo in the k!ller
i slay (yeah) any emcee in my way—uh! (uh huh)
with more troops than princess leia from star wars
to scar foe emcees. what’s the plan?
i walk on my hands and k!ll with my timberlands
what, what, what, what?!?
[outro: cella dwellas]
phantasm: what’s the plan?
u.g.: what’s the plan?
phantasm: out in atlanta?
u.g.: you nah’mean? word up, what’s the…
phantasm: chi town?
u.g.: yeah, yeah, you know’m saying? san francisco? you nah’mean, what’s the plan?
phantasm: la?
u.g.: texas, you nah’mean?
phantasm: out in dc?
u.g.: out in boston? nah’mean? what’s the plan out in..
phantasm: philly?
u.g.: philadelphia, you nah’mean? big up to my man tim westwood
phantasm: and we’re out

- cella dwellas lyrics

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