Lyrics of ' CDP Smackdown (feat. Wildchild, MED, Roc C & Kazi) ' by The Professionals (Oh No & Madlib)

Nigga, it takes one
To make a million run
Believe it (fuck you think you talkin to?)
Mothafucka
Shut the fuck up
This is it right here
I’m official
I’m cuttin on you (cuttin on you, cutting on you)
I don’t give a fuck (fuck that shit)
Get the fuck outta here
Frontin, get half the bones in ya body broken
Call security

Ayo, I walked in and smacked him across the face
Knocked him off his place
Threw the first chair like in Office Space
Awkward pace
The leg took off his legs, smash all traits
The crowd screamed loud from the bloody trace
Lunged him to the ropes
While I held his arms I put my fist to the sky
And then I punched him in the throat
Ayo, Wild, let him go
(Nah, let me get 'em, Oh)
A'ight, bet. Let this fool know 'bout what we do, bro

Ay, you just a copy now
We ligers, ready to eat you like Siegfried and Roy
Ready to be destroyed, like Floyd
Did to Pacquiao, knocking you out
No refs here to save you
While you floppin' on a sloppy foul
You know how the Ox get down
My trainer Madlib yellin': don't let him throw out the towel!
So Oh No assembled up a crew
To turn these cats into a falafel now
But I'll stop for now
So instead, my nigga M.E.D. can leave a tread on ya head
While I celebrate with some Cîroc for now

Sound of the ding, scorpion sting
Four-finger ring, can't duck when I swing
I break beef cheek bones and a spleen
Your girl on her knees, please, I'm bobbin' her weave
Easily, I corner your team, bone crushin'
No punch-ins, one take with a sixteen
Maybe this is too much
Half a verse, still ate 'em up
Flow golden gloves when I lace 'em up

Like Brock told Cormier
Yeah, I'm comin' for you muthafucka
Heavyweight division is weak
Gracie, wavy, El Cucuy truly
Who he be? Roman/greco, the next flow
ROC, Ox native, I'm Errol Spence, you're Keith Thurman
I'm swarmin' the body, release your soul to the paparazzi
Can't save 'em, mama should've never had 'em
Couldn't raise 'em, known as a guinea bastard

Tag me in, let the goon get off
Figure-four locked on, we own the octagon
Broken arms by armbars moves the crowd
Tactics, cerebral creepin' and moving through wilds
I'm a mad man, slip in ya mouth an Ambien
Hijacked the titles, you never get a shot again
Prepare for war's my pedigree
High power for battle, CDP's auxiliary

Yo, let me back in, I tapped it, jumped it
Like it's from the buckle, did the buckle up
Hit 'em with a buckle add and buckle up
Wasn't ready for the ride
I ruffled up they feathers, was it rough enough?
Break off the ruffles and we'll rough 'em up
I threw a Jon Jones elbow over the rail slow
Using the hands and what hell holds
The trust goes the fire from the pyrotechnics
No counts needed from the refs when
I pulled the plug, they now disconnected

The fuck is on yo mind?
Fall back
I told you this shit is mine!

Prosperity!
Right on! And what's the key to prosperity? (Money!)
Money! That's right. And that's why we're here