A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #

M.O.P.

"Woodstock Hood Hop"

[Verse 1: Joell Ortiz]
H-E- (what?)
L-L-O, i’m one hell of a show
I’m the best, you stuck in the middle like l-m-n-o
I’ll p*ss on you, let every toxic elements go
All you pussies is f*cked, call me now celibate Joe (ay!)
Ay Slaughterhouse, let’s go rock Ed Sullivan Show
I literally can’t front, I’m back like never befo’ (oh!)
I’ma rap my letter to hoes
Dear prostitute, I miss y’all lettin’ me slap my head on your nose
Where the f*ck is my guitar? It couldn’t of went far
Oh yeah, I smashed it on homie head in that Brook-lyn bar
Man I’m somewhere in between a crook and a star
Had some more bars but I left my rap book in the car

[Hook: M.O.P.]
Yo, this that Woodstock hood hop
Hands up if you f*ckin with it
We reppin Brooklyn (c'mon!) Jersey (c'mon!)
Long Beach (c'mon!) Detroit (c'mon!)

[Verse 2: Crooked I]
Spazz out, knock a n*gga ass out
Knew he had a paper thin chin and a glass mouth
West Coast sh*t, Seven-Deuce glass house
Got a Lil' Fame so me and my Posse Mash Out
I ain't got a college degree, just a Circle of Bosses
The Slaughter's in me, pardon me G
I just wanna f*ck your daughter and flee
And leave all that married sh*t in the background like I'm Father MC
c*cky but don't be a copy cat
When you see me rocking that
LA Kings hockey hat
I'm the king of LA, Do you copy that?
Time for some change like Obama in a Laundromat

[Hook: M.O.P.]
Yo, this that Woodstock hood hop
Hands up if you f*ckin with it
We reppin Brooklyn (c'mon!) Jersey (c'mon!)
Long Beach (c'mon!) Detroit (c'mon!)

[Verse 3: Royce Da 59]
Do yall want problems with us? I guess not
Broadcasting live from a Pyrex Pot
The streets know that we nice, try your best shot
Speech coated in ice, dialects hot
Everybody (Cmon), get cool, these some big shoes
Gun talking repetitive, call it Chip-Fu
You ain't never heard of me, mami? You excused
I dont only diss dudes
You sleeping on us? Thats what it is
Just understand that I ain't getting no winter sleep til you looking at the back of your lids
Im a lyrical ounce of piff
Still counting those chips
For real mami, Slaughterhouse in this

[Hook: M.O.P.]
Yo, this that Woodstock hood hop
Hands up if you f*ckin with it
We reppin Brooklyn (c'mon!) Jersey (c'mon!)
Long Beach (c'mon!) Detroit (c'mon!)

[Verse 4: Joe Budden]
Look, I’m not a gang-banger, more like game changer
With tamed anger, alias lover name changer
Liable to pop at kids and aim flamers
I’m why your parents told you not to entertain strangers
Dope get it, top notch, flow sickest
Best out, don’t blame me it’s no spitters
So vicious on the road to riches
From now on call me Mr. weiss, they chasin all of your old b*tches
From the hood new jersey and I claim this
Oxymoron, rob with the dirty and stainless
c*ck back, high saddity so I keep the top back
So when the streets is watchin, I could watch back

[Hook: M.O.P.]
Yo, this that Woodstock hood hop
Hands up if you f*ckin with it
We reppin Brooklyn (c'mon!) Jersey (c'mon!)
Long Beach (c'mon!) Detroit (c'mon!)

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #


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