Artist: Ol Dirty Bastard
Album: Return to the 36 Chambers - The Dirty Version
Song: Hippa to Da Hoppa.
My beats are slammin..
My beats are slammin from the rugged programming
My man Bob Marley hey my man I'm Jammin
You could never touch the stamina, while I'm rammin the
hip-hop crowd makes me rrrah rrrah rrrah
Other MC's got flipped with the ease
Beggin me for burnt cigar, stop the music please
No, cause I'm a PRO, rap to the conVO
Make a crowd say HOE, at a strip SHOW
Represent, my name is Ason, keep calm
Rhyme's too smoky, funky like a stink bomb
Boom! Blowin up niggaz better than pullin the trigger
So you betta run for covah!
Niggaz better loosen they a*, felt the glass
A forty ounce bottle, yo yo yo yo money yo pass!
Woooh-woooh-woooh! I sweat it live
MC gonna live God? No, the nigga die
The max-imum of MC's are populating
The min-imum of those MC's are dominating
Now all and together now, to what what who?
Rhymes come stinky like a girl's poo-poo.
Hippa to da hoppa and you just don't stoppa (2x).
Ahh s***, here I go once again
Rhymes get s***y from the time that I spend
I come old like toe fungus mold
Ask my grand-pop pop duke gave my soul
Then I came with that old Al Green s***t
Saaa-die, taught me the ballisitc
I get you blurry in your eye with a high note
down, to the Brownsville, oops you got smoked
The s***t I'm droppin is stinkin up your area
When I shoot it through like a messanger carrier
I keep my breath smellin like s***t so I can get
FUNKY, baby I'm not havin it.
Help master! *battle ensues*
Bastard, I didn't know who you were