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