Hopsin - The B Bop

"Excuse me, are you Hopsin?"
"Yeah, why? Who wants to know?"
"My mommy doesn't like me listening to you, but could you
Like sing me one of those songs? Like, like one of the cool ones?"
"Man I got to go man I'm not tryin to sing..."
"Please?"
"Alright, alright alright..."

It's the B Bop, my B Bop song
Do the B Bop, ain't nothing wrong
Come on!
Shobedibinbang, shobedibinbang, bidung, oh baby!
Shobedibinbang, shobedibinbang, bidung, oh baby!

Ayo it's time to bring the West back, pass me the exlax
So I can shit on all these niggas when I wreck tracks
Your flow ain't that ill, I think you should adjust that
Homie I don't mean to be rude to you, it's just that
You ain't the first nigga I seen with an attitude
Up on the mic tryin' to explain what the gat'll do
Your skills won't get you that place up in Malibu
You better off tryin' to go slang with a bag of fruit
And leave it up to me, I got the bubblies
I'll do in an hour what would take your ass a couple days
My contacts make the ladies fall in love with me
He's the joker of rap is what these motherfuckers say
I'm slightly psychotic and idiotic but modest whenever spotted
So logically I'm a profit, face it niggas you just suck
And as far as your game, it ain't never had legs to step up

Man I'm tired of the ghetto, hope I make it out this place
Ill niggas running around like an ape up out the cage
And it ain't about the change, man these things are not the same
All these killers wanna leave my brain laying on the pave
And I ain't did nothing, all these little kids cussing
Learning from their big cousins how to go and get stuck in
A correctional facility, messing up their liberty
Acting a fool making unnecessary enemies
Yes it's very weird to me, I did not get caught in it
I was into rap, for some reason I love the art of it
I ain't never drank or smoked because I'm smarter than
That and I didn't want to grow up to be what my father is
Gotta make a living, got plans of moving out the hood, not stayin in it
I hate these cheap apartments, and these vague complaining attendants
Roaches in the kitchen but I ain't really trippin, I'll be rolling in a minute, singin

On the mic I burn niggas and turn rappers to singers
I learn that on the day I confirmed I was the slayer
I serve packs of these haters my words actually rape 'em
And where's daddy to save him? My urge has to be fatal
Up in this music shit the sky's the limit for rising in it
Long as I'm consistent and keep on using my eyes as gimmicks
I'mma be the talk of the town, walking around
Like "Yes this rap game, I'm the boss of it now"