Wussdaplan - Cella Dwellas

Phantasm: Heads better recognize the flavor.

Cella Dwellas coming like this.

What’s the plan to The Federation?

U.G.: Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!

Ha!

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!

Word up, what’s the plan in Philly, baby?

Phantasm: What’s the plan out in New York?

U.G.: What’s the plan in the Carolinas, North and South?

Phantasm: Out in Jersey?

U.G.: We’re about to show y’all.

Come on, son, bless ‘em

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

Faking jacks and they’re Pussycat like Josie.

Verbally

I spit hot shots that rock niggas' knots

With infrared rhymes—that means X marks the spot

My mouth claps, wigs get pushed back when I let off

Big raps and ride these beats like Amtrak.

If you need

Beats like these, come see us with five G’s

Before we go to eight joints and five royalty points

Any man I’ll slaughter.

Glad I got a son

Not a daughter, thinking ‘bout this five-and-a-quarter

BM.

See, them fronting niggas is crabs.

When I

Bust AKs like Arabs, they get peeled like scabs

Every time I speak shit, I freak shit

CDs always coming with that unique shit

Yeah, pa

Don’t sweat it.

Automatics 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-layering

on my finger and Gucci jingling

Mingling with thugs with scarred mugs as trademarks

To spark lye, exhale and smoke with a wigged eye

Think I can’t keep it real or we’re faking

Jacks?

Hit you with the MAC and leave your body shaking

Face-down, blowing bubbles in dirty puddles

Of water.

I slaughter niggas —what?

Phantasm: Yeah, out in Atlanta

U.G.: What’s the plan in VA?

Phantasm: In New Orleans?

U.G.: Know’m saying?

What’s the plan out in Florida?

Phantasm: Like that

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 skills 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 niggas up with the heaters

Props for blocks and block skins, flocks and flocks

Guns, Glocks, and Glocks.

Girls?

I got ‘em locked hot

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.

Fuck every station that fronted on Airplay

When they know the Dwellas do damage like x-rays

Some think sex plays an important role in hip hop

But I won’t stop ‘til I get my props and have shit locked like Fort Knox

All I need is my nigga U.G., an MPC, and an SP

Good promotion, two videos, and we’ll rule this industry

Who you be?

Your homies got you gassed like Getty.

We got

You charged like Eveready.

Talking «let's battle»?

That shit is petty

You got no clout, no name, no label.

This is

Food on my table.

Nigga, your highest bill is cable

I’m out, but no doubt I’ll be back again.

Phan-

-tasm, Cella Dwellas representing Brooklyn

Check it.

I’ll play

My roof like Batman in Gotham City, watching

Crimes, blasting nines.

Chains hanging like vines

Get snatched where I come from, dum-dums flatten

Cats when U.G.

cock gats, float like a Ac'

Vigor, play the back, swigger on Cognac while

People watch my every move like the O.J.

trial

Sounds exotic, flow erotic, melodic, verbal

Software trapped in my cap like Johnny Mnemonic

Scripts I write are ancient, my tablets

Attract like magnets and hit your eyesight like carats

Run for your barracks ‘cause the war is on, ese

Guns I blast be loud like car C/A

What, what, what, what?!?

Phantasm: What’s the plan out in D.C.

U.G.: Know’m saying?

What’s the plan out in Cali?

Ha!

Phantasm: Out in Canada?

U.G.: Yeah, yeah, what’s the plan in Oakland, baby?

What, what?

Phantasm: Yeah, what’s the plan out there in Texas?

U.G.: What’s the plan in Japan?

Ha!

Phantasm: What’s the real plan out there in London?

U.G.: Yeah, what’s the real plan in LA, baby?

What, what?

Phantasm: Tim Westwood, big up and all that

U.G.: Word up, big up to my man Tim Westwood, it’s so good, know’m saying?

Phantasm: CDs

U.G.: Yeah, forever

Phantasm: ‘96