Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Hassan Chop, artist - King Just.
Date of issue: 15.05.1995
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Hassan Chop |
Hassan Chop! |
Yo, I can’t stop |
Givin you that off the wall hip hop |
Hassan Chop! |
Yo, I can’t stop |
This the type of shit that you pump on your block |
Off top, I came to blow the whole spot |
Solid as a rock, my whole style is unorthodox |
Astronomically bait, to a state |
Where I create rappers rate, snatch ya bodies like the dirty mate |
Wait, til you hear the next album drop |
Cuz this shit right here is strictly for the block |
Put your hemp pump cock, licka shot if you wanna |
Especially if you drink beer and smoke marijuana |
I’m a goner, to this world of society |
That’s why kids admire me |
It must be the sounds that I put in ya ear |
Crystal clear, have no fear, in any mic I tear |
In half or to pieces, my style is so ill |
That my middle name should become Jesus |
Oh please kid, this is off the wall terror |
A new era, man, I got the illest shit ever |
Whatever, if you wanna bring it, let it be brought |
And I’mma watch the Mob hold down the fuckin fort |
(Hold it down) And show 'em what my skills can do |
Real niggas represent from the muthafuckin Zoo |
Don’t fuck around buck-o, I’m stickin like stucco |
Uh-oh, better get makeover, rhymes is Play-Do |
The cradle who rock the hand, I’mma slam |
Du-Ra-du-Ra, spinnin like Rodan |
No man can hold me down, I’m like Conan |
The Barbarian, muthafuckas, I’m crushin 'em |
They can’t uphold the King Just touch of gold |
Now everything I drop becomes a heavy load |
I explode on the road, doin shows |
Givin pounds to my bro’s, chasin after big ol' widows |
They know, that I got this rap shit lock |
From the Desert Oasis all the way to the Hilltops |
At the speed of a hat drop, I make you move ya bumblera |
And make Two-Six buck shots, boy, you fuckin blood clots |
And why not, must I make the music? |
As if not man, yo, I just might lose it |
Don’t confuse it, we all in the same game |
You don’t know me, you just know my name |
Was it the fame, that made me insane in the brain |
Drivin this track like a runaway train |
All aboard, Shaolin scored |
We goin on a world tour, raise ya hand if you’re sure |
Now who’s true to hip hop? |
Cuz if not, I throw 'em in the headlock |
And smoke pot, like if I was raised in Woodstock |
The hand cot, got me mesmerized |
Cesstify, look at the red in my eyes |
Oh why, must you test the best of this rap profess |
And guess that I would settle for less |
Yo, I’m stressed, and it keeps buildin up |
What the fuck, roll up, hold up, throw up |
The stage, my face is on front page |
Now I’m a rage, they let the Zoo niggas out the cage |
Watch me raise, and burn shit up like the inferno |
Thoughts so deep you need to write them in your journal |
Ask the colonel, my shit is finger linkin |
I’m flippin, and ain’t enough shit til I put the shit in 'em |
And strike like the 5 Deadly Venoms, and dead 'em |
Forget 'em, fuck 'em, turn around and uppercut 'em |
For frontin, talkin shit and really wasn’t sayin nothin |
A new era, a new day and age |
Off the wall hip hop |
Raow, raow |
Once again, peace |