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Hopsin,
And Tech,
Wreck,
Shit.
I’ll say that again.
They wreck shit.

And wreck clits.
With the rhymes,
they spit.
Hitting some dimes,
And shit.

One day, It’d be dope to be a rap star,
and live large.
But fuck the records labels.
I’ll hang young money from the telephone cables.

I do this for the fans, the underground.
That hard shit, with no sound.
Never gets air time or played on the radio.
Isn’t that crazy, yo?

Whatever, it’s all good.
Live life,
cheating on your wife,
On tours.

I’m in the hood,
With a knife,
Hitting the pipe,
While you’re waiting for my encore.