Lunch Time Cypher (feat. Passionate Mc & G-Mo Skee)

Yo man

Let's take this shit back to fuckin' high school lunch time cyphers

When mother fuckers was beat boxin'

And kickin' ill ass flows in the fuckin' cafeteria

Fuck all that Hollywood shit!

Let's fucking rap, man

Yo, check it

This that high school lunch time cypher

I might just step in this bitch and fuck ya life up

I hope the principal doesn't come and give me a write up

Now who the fuck I gotta snatch the mic from?

I spend a long time tryna build the buzz

Hop is in the building, cause

Step to me a bonus battlefield, you know I will erupt

Didn't change, I'm still a nut

The girls seen my skills are up

So I be gettin' head every single night like a pillow does

When a nigga be flow bashin'

You know I be keepin it old fashioned

My compassion is so tragic on instrumentals when I toe jag it

Throw dirt on me? Then guard your face and stomach

Cause I'm swinging on you like ya ass cheeks had a rope hangin' from it

I'm out my mind, I can't configure it

I'm way too niggerish

I tried to read the Bible but I'm straight illiterate

With anger temperaments

I put myself in strange predicaments

They labeled this as sick

The doctor says to take some Ritalin

Man, I'm a lunatic

Rockin' a crucifix

I'll mack on any chick I feel who got the cutest tits

I'm wanted, fugitive

Robbin' yo whip to cruise in it

See, I'm the only kid on Elm Street that Freddy Krueger skipped

Pants saggin' cause they too loose to fit

I'm torcherous

Grab a hammer and nail for your front door and board it shut

I stare deep in ya eyes, rip out your soul and absorb it up

And have Biggie Smalls yellin' out \"Call the coroner!\"

My groupies stay horny

They always call to say \"Hopsin can you fly me out to Cali? Please pay for me\"

I make that pussy pop for you like you skateboarding

Then you can come inside like a hurricane warning

I got a lot of sluts

I like to call Hopsilut

But now I feel like having sex with these bitches is not enough

I needed something new for moments when I gotta bust

So lately I've been beating my dick with a pair of boxing gloves

I got the maddest rhymes

How dare yo ass deny

I'll stab you in the brain with a knife

You can keep that in mind

You talkin' shit inside yo house?

Cool, fine, fuck it

I'll break in and stomp you out inside of it

Ain't tryna be ya friend

I'll knock you out and when you wake up

I'll just be standin' there with a mischievous grin

Like \"Ha. We meet again\"

I'll puncture yo skin with a crack fiend's syringe

And drill your nut sack to the seat your in

You want props? You don't deserve it, you're not ill

I won't stop 'til every rapper lurkin' has got chills

Why these niggas actin' like they certainly pop steels

When only time they carry heat is serving a hot meal

Since I was young, been on a mission to make dough

And put all my niggas on like this shit was a slave boat

So tell me why your songs sound like skittles and rainbows?

That's a dead giveaway you love and listen to Wayne bro

I'm sick and deranged when I'm spitting this strange flow

Stuck my dick in the game, that's the business I came for

Witness my pain grow, I don't kick it with lame folks

Simple and plain though, you gon remember my name ho, ha!

This that high school lunch time cypher

I might just step in this bitch and fuck ya life up

I hope the principal doesn't come and give me a write up

Now who the fuck I gotta snatch the mic from?

I'll snatch it from anyone when I dance with Satan

And detach more wigs than every female cancer patient that ever cared for a transformation

With a (diss joint/disjoint [?]) sweeter than a diabetic amputation

When I split niggas, clipped quicker than big pictures

Heads get bodied with a single line like a stick figure

Cause my words are wild, and when I write

They can't wait for the sentence like family victims of a murder trial

Openly flow potently

Tighter than the choke-hold needed to put the Incredible Hulk to sleep

Tighter than the boatload of soldiers that stormed Normandy

Tighter than the hairy twat with the Virgin Mary's ovaries

They choke up like their throats cut when I show up

To keep the competition (win-free/Winfrey [?]) like Oprah

Cause when I work with Hopsin, everybody who's hip

Is getting (killed/kilt [?]) like a skirt from Scotland

Then I'll cock-back quicker than mouse traps

And stare as they pull (outta here/out a hare [?]) like magicians tricking with Top hats

I got foreign objects

That'll get you (capped in America/Captain America [?]) like Marvel Comics

With a strap like star guitarists

When this lead of mine see a-head in time like Nostradamus

Or swift jabs that swing left like crip flags

Will be the reason you break (next/necks [?]) like whiplash!

So who the fuck wants war with this?

Distorted thoughts morphed this author to Spartacus

When he balls his fists around the swords he lifts with the force of a horses kick

Multiplied by the reason why God exists, and makes Thor his bitch!

Horror flick like imagery, organs everywhere...

You would swear I was orchestrating a Symphony!

It's passion, the force within him will cause the critics to look-n' drop dead like gorgeous women, hah!