| Trash Talk
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| Doomsday, bring the funk
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| Oh, yah.
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| Yo. |
| Ah.
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| Check this shit out
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| Verse 1
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| I roll straight pimping to the room of my lecture
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| Prepared to enrapture students with a mixture
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| Of hard-ass science and smooth-ass rhymes
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| So phat you can’t fit in my class sometimes
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| I’m early. |
| Popping wheelies in the hall
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| Showing off the hydraulics to the hotties' enthrall
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| Of the Hawk. |
| And yo, who can blame them?
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| I only got one thing larger than my brainstem
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| One asks «How big are your rims?»
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| The answer’s in my lap, the girl hopped in.
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| I cruised on to my appointed destination
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| Dropped the hottie in the front row, said «Be patient»
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| Now I’m rolling the chair with the bass turned up
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| See a bitch T.A. |
| got my latte in a cup
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| I’m like «Fuck! |
| I said Mocha only!
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| I’ll smack you so hard your ghost will be lonely»
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| He says «No offense, Dr. H, but your keyboard
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| Challenges your dexterity, and I think more
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| Challenging still would be your rising to the occasion
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| Readying the back of your hand bend on swift administration»
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| Now I’m consumed by rage
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| I say I oughta bitchslap every last T.A.
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| He says «Yeah, you should. |
| Wish you could!
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| But the arms you got don’t extend that good.»
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| I just smile as if all is forgiven
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| But the glint in my eye be crazy as living
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| On time that’s been borrowed that I’ll soon collect
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| When I teach a hard lesson in Cause-And-Effect
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| Bitch thinks he’s only showing off for his peers
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| He’s a newbie T.A. |
| who does not know the fear
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| And respect that is due to the Hawk and his crew
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| But he’ll learn that and more by the time I’m through
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| He’ll get a…
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| Chorus
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| Bitchslap (Ow!)
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| Oh, snap
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| Punk motherfucker ain’t worth a cap
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| And his S-flap (Ugh!)
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| Proved that
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| No need for the gat
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| Or the baseball bat
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| Just a bitchslap (Ah!)
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| Oh, snap
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| Punk motherfucker ain’t worth a cap
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| And his S-flap (Ow!)
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| Proved that
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| How’d I ever get a bitch T.A. |
| like that?
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| Bitchslap.
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| Verse 2
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| Stayed up late that night, yo, very busy
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| Got shizzy to dizzy-dazzle in the labora-tizzy
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| Servos, motors, chains and gears
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| Mechanisms, the purpose of which is unclear
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| Got all I need, my brain and a screwdriver
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| The Hawk rocks inventing. |
| Fuck MacGyver!
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| I got in mind, a practical design
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| For a device to help keep T.A.'s in line
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| Next day, all is ready. |
| The punk is oblivious
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| No concept of how doomed he already is
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| Cup in hand, again the wrong flavor
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| I pause as he smirks so as I can savor
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| The moment, then I say
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| «Bitch, I said Mocha. |
| Now you get a slapping.»
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| T.A. |
| said «No, sir. |
| I don’t believe
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| that I’ll receive, one of those from you.
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| But if you posit otherwise, let’s see what you can do.
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| I was cool, made sure he understood
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| Then hit the button labeled «Extend that good»
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| With a whizz and a whir, unfolding from the chair
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| Came the robot arm shooting up into the air
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| Wound back with a click, then aimed at the bitch
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| Steel palm, chrome nickel on the backside switch
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| It connected with the T.A.'s head. |
| Velocity hi-yo!
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| Kinetic transfer to his pie-hole
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| His head snapped back, his neck went crack
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| He stood for a moment then his legs went flat
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| My other T.A.'s who’d been brimming when he spoke
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| Got a serious expression on their faces, so
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| I just rolled real slow on up to the lecture
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| The lesson today, the Hawk can wreck your
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| whole shit, so don’t test
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| Or I’ll put you on the list to get bitchslapped next
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| Chorus
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| Ah, yah.
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| MC Hawking kicking it with MC Frontalot
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| (Says yep.)
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| Let this be a lesson to all you punk bitches out there
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| The Hawk can wreck your whole shit, so don’t test.
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| A’ight. |
| We be geese.
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| Peace. |