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Hippa To Da Hoppa (LP Version)

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 ass, 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 maximum of MC's are populating

The minimum of those MC's are dominating

Now all and together now, to what what who?

Rhymes come stinky like a girl's poo-poo[Chorus]

Hippa to da hoppa and you just don't stoppa

Hippa to da hoppa and you just don't stoppaAh shit, here I go once again

Rhymes get shitty 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 shit

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 shit I'm droppin' is stinkin' up your area

When I shoot it through like a messenger carrier

I keep my breath smellin' like shit so I can get

Funky, baby I'm not havin' it[Chorus: x2]Help master!

Dragon-fist!

Horse-fist!

Bastard, I didn't know who you were

Songwriters

JONES, RUSSELL T./DIGGS, ROBERT F.Published by

Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc. Song Discussions is protected by U.S. Patent 9401941. Other patents pending.

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