[Intro] Yo man Let's take this shit back to fuckin' high school lunch time cyphers When mother fuckers was beat boxin' And kickin' ill ass flows in the fuckin' cafeteria Fuck all that Hollywood shit! Let's fucking rap, man
[Verse 1] Yo, check it This that high school lunch time cypher I might just step in this bitch and fuck ya life up I hope the principal doesn't come and give me a write up Now who the fuck I gotta snatch the mic from? I spend a long time tryna build the buzz Hop is in the building, cuz Step to me a bonus battlefield, you know I will erupt Didn't change, I'm still a nut The girls seen my skills are up So I be gettin' head every single night like a pillow does When a nigga be flow bashin' You know I be keepin it old fashioned My compassion is so tragic on instrumentals when I toe jag it Throw dirt on me? Then guard your face and stomach Cause I'm swinging on you like ya ass cheeks had a rope hangin' from it I'm out my mind, I can't configure it I'm way too niggerish I tried to read the Bible but I'm straight illiterate With anger temperaments I put myself in strange predicaments They labeled this as sick The doctor says to take some Ritalin Man, I'm a lunatic Rockin' a crucifix I'll mack on any chick I feel who got the cutest tits I'm wanted, fugitive Robbin' yo whip to cruise in it See, I'm the only kid on Elm Street that Freddy Krueger skipped Pants saggin' cause they too loose to fit I'm torcherous Grab a hammer and nail for your front door and board it shut I stare deep in ya eyes, rip out your soul and absorb it up And have Biggie Smalls yellin' out "Call the coroner!" My groupies stay horny They always call to say "Hopsin can you fly me out to Cali? Please pay for me" I make that pussy pop for you like you skateboarding Then you can come inside like a hurricane warning I got a lot of sluts I like to call Hopsilut But now I feel like having sex with these bitches is not enough I needed something new for moments when I gotta bust So lately I've been beating my dick with a pair of boxing gloves I got the maddest rhymes How dare yo ass deny I'll stab you in the brain with a knife You can keep that in mind You talkin' shit inside yo house? Cool, fine, fuck it I'll break in and stomp you out inside of it Ain't tryna be ya friend I'll knock you out and when you wake up I'll just be standin' there with a mischievous grin Like "Ha. We meet again" I'll puncture yo skin with a crack fiend's syringe And drill your nut sack to the seat your in You want props? You don't deserve it, you're not ill I won't stop 'til every rapper lurkin' has got chills Why these niggas actin' like they certainly pop steels When only time they carry heat is serving a hot meal Since I was young, been on a mission to make dough And put all my niggas on like this shit was a slave boat So tell me why your songs sound like skittles and rainbows? That's a dead giveaway you love and listen to Wayne bro I'm sick and deranged when I'm spitting this strange flow Stuck my dick in the game, that's the business I came for Witness my pain grow, I don't kick it with lame folks Simple and plain though, you gon remember my name ho, ha!
[Hook] This that high school lunch time cypher I might just step in this bitch and fuck ya life up I hope the principal doesn't come and give me a write up Now who the fuck I gotta snatch the mic from?
[Verse 2: Passionate MC] I'll snatch it from anyone when I dance with Satan And detach more wigs than every female cancer patient that ever cared for a transformation With a (diss joint/disjoint[?]) sweeter than a diabetic amputation When I split niggas, clipped quicker than big pictures Heads get bodied with a single line like a stick figure Cause my words are wild, and when I write They can't wait for the sentence like family victims of a murder trial Openly flow potently Tighter than the choke-hold needed to put the Incredible Hulk to sleep Tighter than the boatload of soldiers that stormed Normandy Tighter than the hairy twat with the Virgin Mary's ovaries They choke up like their throats cut when I show up To keep the competition (win-free/Winfrey[?]) like Oprah Cause when I work with Hopsin, everybody who's hip Is getting (killed/kilt[?]) like a skirt from Scotland Then I'll cock-back quicker than mouse traps And stare as they pull (outta here/out a hare[?]) like magicians tricking with Top hats I got foreign objects That'll get you (capped in America/Captain America[?]) like Marvel Comics With a strap like star guitarists When this lead of mine see a-head in time like Nostradamus Or swift jabs that swing left like crip flags Will be the reason you break (next/necks[?]) like whiplash! So who the fuck wants war with this? Distorted thoughts morphed this author to Spartacus When he balls his fists around the swords he lifts with the force of a horses kick Multiplied by the reason why god exists, and makes Thor his bitch! Horror flick like imagery, organs everywhere.. You would swear I was orchestrating a Symphony! It's passion, the force within him will cause the critics to look-n' drop dead like gorgeous women, hah!Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
