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Artist: Royce Da 5'9"
Album: The Bar Exam
Song: Street Hop
Typed by: firstname.lastname@example.org
The M.I.C. bitch
You show off
I've been a monster bitch
My shit been bonkers
The flow been conquered
Hoes I been pompous (Smash Squad)
I've been conceited but I don't 5-0
I haven't been shot up either and I ain't from Chicago
When I enter the center stage the show's over
Minutes later the floor is frozen, a Rolls, rolls up
I'm demonstratin' a coke flow but I'm so sober
The original +Renegade+ before Hova
They like, "Damn, why ain't Dre ever get him?
He seem like so much anger and pain represent him."
Eminem himself will tell you I'm the only nigga livin'
That done ever spanked him on the same record with him
Your man's gettin' jealous
Cause what I'm spittin' is sicker than his single
He got to think of a dance just to sell it
This is street hop to the fullest
To them real niggas out there on the corner beat boxin' with bullets
Niggas that be trigger packin'
Pop lockin' with glocks
Could aim well enough to shoot the zippers off your Thriller jacket
Me, I'm the illest rapper
Since every rapper killin'
From here on out, you can call me Shottie The Killer Capper
These record labels just manufacture shit
Like the pimp game homie, I'm here to snatch yo bitch
Got a fist game on me that ain't an afro pick
Try that ying yang on me, I'll handy cap you quick
Usually I play the two or three I been ballin'
Bitch, losin' me is like the Piston's losin' Ben Wallace
I'm to Detroit like what Souljah Slim is to Chopper City
So losin' me is like musically losin' Pac or Biggie
I'll be your ass, leave you with your mouth piece wired
Losin' pounds in the hospital, be quiet
Til you finally come up out that coma, boney
Lookin' like somebody put you on the South Beach Diet
If you hearin' me spit it, it's soundin' like the king died
Trippin' when I kick it, it's soundin' like my strings tied
I put the clip in and pull it
Listen, the pistol is soundin' like Hakeem's bride
And you don't wanna beef nigga cause my arm's be
All through Cali and Miami like a palm tree
My crew be
In New York or New Jerz usually
With tools to recognize you as who is you?
You don't wanna fool with the etiquette or the Uzi
I'll put you in the credits that's at the end of the movie
I pity your mother
She never seen you in a magazine
For the obituary I give you the cover
So when I'm rhymin' with ya
I'm Ving Rhames of the pimp game
I play the same role as Tiny Lister
Again and again
The Debo of the type cast
When I TiVo the mag they be showin' the white flag
So sit at the table and get it like it's digital cable
I torture you into talkin' to me till it get's fatal
Fuck with you till I put you out of your misery
With a silence or I'ma just muffle it up with a potato
"This is street hop" - Nas 'Made You Look'
DJ Premier on the cut
"Six July" on the beat