[Verse 1: Suffa]
Hahaha
I make b-girls say, "Rock me", b-boys say, "Not me"
I give props to any MC who try to stop me
I look at 'em, throw my rhyme book at 'em, see which rap he feels
And make him hate himself like bulimics eatin' Happy Meals (Uh, uh)
I'll sap your skills like sex saps your endurance
Fuck hip-hop purists ([?]), still Hoods are passin' judgement like we're jurors
Who is? Me and Fats, 'cause we hate clones
I'm livin' phat, you're livin' skinny like DJ Bonez
Uh, this kid is the one to make you clap like chlamydia
Props to true friends: Baz, Flak, and Olivia
Consider The Certified the kings of the city, the
Wise rock live from here to Bolivia
Italy to Sicily, Tripoli to Gallipoli
I'm flippin' the mic, ain't nobody rippin' me
So clap your hands to the beatbox
This rapper's standin' in his Reeboks
Yo, we rock cities like Grateful Dead rockin' old folks
And cops sweat me on the reg' like I was strapped and I sold dope
[?] not either or, we the raw
Open your eyes, I'll show you things you never seen before
When we on tour, we live on cigarettes and gubana (Uh)
My mates live on junk food and marijuana
My armour's my b-boy battle gear, yeah, we here
And b-boys flock to me like I was free weed and free beer
[Scratches: DJ Debris]
"Rock-rock ya"
"Don't stop"
"Rock-rock ya"
"Don't stop"

[Chorus: Pressure]
And if you don't stop, then
The Hoods won't stop, and
The Hoods won't stop if
The loop don't stop, and
If you don't stop, then
The Hoods won't stop, and
The Hoods won't stop if
The beat don't stop

[Interlude: Suffa]
Here we go
It's almighty Pressure MC in the house
All right, bring it to 'em
Take 'em to school; don't stop!

[Verse 2: Pressure]
Ain't it funny how the
World seems to run on a profit, that's why rappers
Check for me like their wallets, I'm deeper than a klepto's pockets
So when rock it, you don't wanna battle, boy, get off it
FM stations got no plugs for me, I simply pull 'em out your sockets
Debris, drop it, this beat is hella
Now we the fellas droppin' the third endurable [?]
I believe I never seen my better
Still, MCs try and push me around 'cause I'm the only peer [?]
MCs are never [?] rockin' mics, change out my style
Like ugly women swap to dykes if that's what she like
[?] these long days make for longer nights
While I come correct, you're still confused about wrong and right
I'm on a tight schedule to murder all fakes
'Cause I hate 'em like people up in my personal space
Not even thermals will make your shit hot, rehearsal's a waste
You ain't got it, you ain't got it, it ain't personal, mate
I'm kinda happy bein' me, you ain't happy with yourself
Like Biz Markie in a nappy tryna take samples for free (Haha)
Now even crack fiends agree we got the rock that you feel, I
Bring a bass to your dome more than servin' crack dealers
I'm tirin' of old, uninspirin' and sold-outs
Designed for the mould, so keep your lips sealed, silence is gold
[?] I walk the hills amongst giants of old
Revoke your license to ill while your album [?] sold
[Scratches: DJ Debris]
"Stop-stop"
"Rock-rock ya"
"Stop-stop-
Stop-stop"

[Chorus: Pressure]
And if you don't stop, then
The Hoods won't stop, and
The Hoods won't stop if
The loop don't stop, and
If you don't stop, then
The Hoods won't stop, and
The Hoods won't stop if
The beat don't stop