Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Lunch Time Cypher, artist - Hopsin. Album song Knock Madness, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 25.11.2013
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Undercover Prodigy
Song language: English
Lunch Time Cypher |
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 |
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 spent a long time tryna build a buzz |
Hop is in the building, cuz |
Step to me up on this battlefield, you know I will erupt |
Didn’t change, I’m still a nut |
The girlies see 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 tag 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 torturous |
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 it Hopsin luck |
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 standing 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 you’re 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 steel |
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 to 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! |
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’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 ahead 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! |
Yo, check it |
This that high school lunch time cypher |
I might just step in this bitch and fuck ya life up |
Fuck the principal, he can give me a fuckin' write up |
Now who the fuck I gotta snatch the mic from? |
Don’t get this shit confused |
You’re not a person, you’re delicious food |
No matter your race, birthplace, or religious views |
All you niggas getting chewed |
I eat a rapper, fitted cap first and then I spit out his tennis shoes |
Missing screws in my top, I don’t have the patience |
I grab the chop and leave you niggas eradicated |
I never let the doctor give me shots, I’m unvaccinated |
And I got small pox, you can have a blanket |
Get assassinated and left with broken bones |
If you gotta travel through the woods don’t go alone |
I’m fucking bitches in a mobile home |
Like a mutated nigga from the hills have eyes with no Trojan on |
This is paranormal activity with a dagger |
I got paranormal tendencies y’all just a pair of normal rappers |
So why you talking like you not defenseless? |
I punch you ten times in the mouth |
And have your pussy asses hoppin fences |
I got suspended for a few weeks in the 8th grade |
When the principal caught me on the street tryna spray paint |
I bought a dozen eggs from Safeway |
And threw them at the muthafuckas house on the same day |
You can get it the same way |
I’m making bitch niggas walk the plank |
In crocodile infested water mixed with toxic waste |
Bury you alive with a camera strapped across your face |
Then come back 2 weeks later and watch the tape |
You cried like a bitch trying to make the coffin break |
You died like a bitch instead of trying to concentrate |
I’m here to depopulate on the red carpet with a sniper rifle |
Taking out any nigga you nominate |
So if you see me as soon as you turn the news on |
Chances are I laid a nigga down like a futon |
While you at work dealing with groceries and coupons |
I got your bitch tossing my salad pass the croutons |
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? |
Yeah hah! |
Took it back to fucking lunchtime on these muthafuckas son! |
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah Funk Volume |