| Yo man
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| Let’s take this shit back to fuckin' high school lunch time cyphers
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| When mother fuckers was beat boxin'
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| And kickin' ill ass flows in the fuckin' cafeteria
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| Fuck all that Hollywood shit!
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| Let’s fucking rap, man
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| Yo, check it
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| This that high school lunch time cypher
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| I might just step in this bitch and fuck ya life up
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| I hope the principal doesn’t come and give me a write up
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| Now who the fuck I gotta snatch the mic from?
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| I spent a long time tryna build a buzz
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| Hop is in the building, cuz
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| Step to me up on this battlefield, you know I will erupt
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| Didn’t change, I’m still a nut
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| The girlies see my skills are up
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| So I be gettin' head every single night like a pillow does
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| When a nigga be flow bashin'
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| You know I be keepin it old fashioned
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| My compassion is so tragic on instrumentals when I toe tag it
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| Throw dirt on me? | 
| Then guard your face and stomach
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| Cause I’m swinging on you like ya ass cheeks had a rope hangin' from it
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| I’m out my mind, I can’t configure it
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| I’m way too niggerish
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| I tried to read the Bible but I’m straight illiterate
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| With anger temperaments
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| I put myself in strange predicaments
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| They labeled this as sick
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| The doctor says to take some Ritalin
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| Man, I’m a lunatic, rockin' a crucifix
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| I’ll mack on any chick I feel who got the cutest tits
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| I’m wanted, fugitive, robbin' yo whip to cruise in it
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| See, I’m the only kid on Elm Street that Freddy Krueger skipped
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| Pants saggin' cause they too loose to fit, I'm torturous
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| Grab a hammer and nail for your front door and board it shut
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| I stare deep in ya eyes, rip out your soul and absorb it up
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| And have Biggie Smalls yellin' out «call the coroner!»
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| My groupies stay horny
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| They always call to say «Hopsin can you fly me out to Cali?
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| Please pay for me»
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| I make that pussy pop for you like you skateboarding
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| Then you can come inside like a hurricane warning
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| I got a lot of sluts, I like to call it Hopsin luck
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| But now I feel like having sex with these bitches is not enough
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| I needed something new for moments when I gotta bust
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| So lately I’ve been beating my dick with a pair of boxing gloves
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| I got the maddest rhymes, how dare yo ass deny
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| I’ll stab you in the brain with a knife
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| You can keep that in mind
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| You talkin' shit inside yo house, cool, fine, fuck it
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| I’ll break in and stomp you out inside of it
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| Ain’t tryna be ya friend
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| I’ll knock you out and when you wake up
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| I’ll just be standing there with a mischievous grin
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| Like"Ha, we meet again"
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| I’ll puncture yo skin with a crack fiend’s syringe
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| And drill your nut sack to the seat you’re in
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| You want props? | 
| You don’t deserve it, you’re not ill
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| I won’t stop 'til every rapper lurkin' has got chills
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| Why these niggas actin' like they certainly pop steel
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| When only time they carry heat is serving a hot meal
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| Since I was young, been on a mission to make dough
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| And put all my niggas on like this shit was a slave boat
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| So tell me why your songs sound like skittles and rainbows?
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| That’s a dead giveaway you love to listen to Wayne bro
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| I’m sick and deranged when I’m spitting this strange flow
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| Stuck my dick in the game, that’s the business I came for
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| Witness my pain grow, I don’t kick it with lame folks
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| Simple and plain though, you gon remember my name ho, ha!
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| Yo, check it
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| This that high school lunch time cypher
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| I might just step in this bitch and fuck ya life up
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| I hope the principal doesn’t come and give me a write up
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| Now who the fuck I gotta snatch the mic from?
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| I’ll snatch it from anyone when I dance with Satan
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| And detach more wigs than every female cancer patient that ever cared for a
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| transformation
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| With a (diss joint | disjoint) sweeter than a diabetic amputation
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| When I split niggas, clipped quicker than big pictures
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| Heads get bodied with a single line like a stick figure
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| Cause my words are wild, and when I write
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| They can’t wait for the sentence like family victims of a murder trial
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| Openly flow potently
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| Tighter than the choke-hold needed to put the Incredible Hulk to sleep
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| Tighter than the boatload of soldiers that stormed Normandy
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| Tighter than the hairy twat with the Virgin Mary’s ovaries | 
| They choke up like their throats cut when I show up
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| To keep the competition (win-free | Winfrey) like Oprah
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| Cause when I work with Hopsin, everybody who’s hip
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| Is getting (killed | kilt) like a skirt from Scotland
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| Then I’ll cock-back quicker than mouse traps
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| And stare as they pull (outta here | out a hare) like magicians tricking with
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| Top hats
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| I got foreign objects
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| That’ll get you (capped in America | Captain America) like Marvel Comics
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| With a strap like star guitarists
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| When this lead of mine see ahead in time like Nostradamus
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| Or swift jabs that swing left like crip flags
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| Will be the reason you break (next | necks) like whiplash!
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| So who the fuck wants war with this?
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| Distorted thoughts morphed this author to Spartacus
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| When he balls his fists around the swords he lifts with the force of a horses
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| kick
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| Multiplied by the reason why god exists, and makes Thor his bitch!
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| Horror flick like imagery, organs everywhere.
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| You would swear I was orchestrating a Symphony!
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| It’s passion, the force within him will cause the critics to look-n' drop dead
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| like gorgeous women, hah!
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| Yo, check it
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| This that high school lunch time cypher
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| I might just step in this bitch and fuck ya life up
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| Fuck the principal, he can give me a fuckin' write up
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| Now who the fuck I gotta snatch the mic from?
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| Don’t get this shit confused
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| You’re not a person, you’re delicious food
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| No matter your race, birthplace, or religious views
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| All you niggas getting chewed
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| I eat a rapper, fitted cap first and then I spit out his tennis shoes
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| Missing screws in my top, I don’t have the patience
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| I grab the chop and leave you niggas eradicated
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| I never let the doctor give me shots, I’m unvaccinated
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| And I got small pox, you can have a blanket
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| Get assassinated and left with broken bones
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| If you gotta travel through the woods don’t go alone
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| I’m fucking bitches in a mobile home
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| Like a mutated nigga from the hills have eyes with no Trojan on
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| This is paranormal activity with a dagger
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| I got paranormal tendencies y’all just a pair of normal rappers
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| So why you talking like you not defenseless?
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| I punch you ten times in the mouth
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| And have your pussy asses hoppin fences
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| I got suspended for a few weeks in the 8th grade
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| When the principal caught me on the street tryna spray paint
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| I bought a dozen eggs from Safeway
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| And threw them at the muthafuckas house on the same day
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| You can get it the same way
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| I’m making bitch niggas walk the plank
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| In crocodile infested water mixed with toxic waste
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| Bury you alive with a camera strapped across your face
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| Then come back 2 weeks later and watch the tape
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| You cried like a bitch trying to make the coffin break
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| You died like a bitch instead of trying to concentrate
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| I’m here to depopulate on the red carpet with a sniper rifle
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| Taking out any nigga you nominate
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| So if you see me as soon as you turn the news on
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| Chances are I laid a nigga down like a futon
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| While you at work dealing with groceries and coupons
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| I got your bitch tossing my salad pass the croutons
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| Yo, check it
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| This that high school lunch time cypher
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| I might just step in this bitch and fuck ya life up
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| I hope the principal doesn’t come and give me a write up
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| Now who the fuck I gotta snatch the mic from?
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| Yeah hah! | 
| Took it back to fucking lunchtime on these muthafuckas son!
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| Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah Funk Volume |