THE HRSMN - Bop Your Head lyrics

[Intro: k**ah Priest] Yea, yea, yea, yea Yea, yea - f** that! I'm set it off - yea, yea, ya sh**ted Ya in some sh** now, son It's on now, motherf**ers can s** my dick I'm back! f** that sh**! Ready to eat n***as up, beat they a** and e'rything, son I'mma prove this sh**, right here Me and my n***a - what!? [k**ah Priest] The emperor, chief sinister, street minister Guarenteed in two bars to finish ya React like a cat when he arches back Give a fake rapper a heart attack, once I start to rap I'm a vocalist, n***a, supposed to rip Last Poet's told me this, hit ya in ya head wit my explosive fist Then I finish ya off with my tremendous horse-kick What now, n***a? Look at ya, talk sh** Can't do it, cuz you ain't got no teeth in ya mouth And I know ya just tired of me, beatin ya out Ya trained all year, in a karate cla** It took one second, to put yo' a** in a body bag From a shotty blast, I walk up in ya club and ya parties don't last I like to pop sh**, don't get me started I slap y'all motherf**ers like y'all little kids in kindergarten Squeeze yo' head till yo' kidneys harden Now watch this, I'mma call my whole motherf**in squadron And tell n***as to just start robbin Cuz y'all n***as is f**ed up And Brooklyn n***as is really ready to get ya I know how to hit ya, and cut ya open But don't worry, cuz I'mma stitch ya, with a rusty screwdriver [Hook: k**ah Priest] n***as bop yo' heads to this, real sh** Call up yo' clicks to this, it's realness You feel this in yo' streets and village Spare that new sh**, Priest k**ed it Y! n***as bop yo' heads to this, real sh** Call up yo' clicks to this, it's realness You feel this in yo' streets and village Spare that new sh**, 'bus k**ed it [Canibus] Yo, yo, yo Yo I'm a Macabeast MC and I possess the ability To run at top speed without bendin my knees I destory sh**, pin-point asteroids in orbit Then, hurl n***as thousands of miles an hour, towards it f**in heathen, wrap my hands around ya neck region Then I start squeezin 'til ya stop breathin You weaklins is playin tug-of-war wit ya tongues I knock the teeth out ya gums and s** the breeze out ya lungs Hit ya wit a blow your physical frame could never sustain You'll probably never walk ever again n***a, you think you rhyme sick? I leave you lyin stiff Put you in a horsemen heimlich til I break ya spine, b**h Stop cryin b**h, before I hit ya wit the Iron, b**h You can't rhyme b**h, the one triple nine's mine b**h The pain'll make ya voice change octaves From low-pitched to high-pitched, every hour we k** a hostage We judge MC's by they lyrical fitness And punish DJ's for puttin corny stickers on they mixes Smack the stripper b**hes for askin for our autograph and pictures You'll be scared to leave the club wit us You scratch my back, I'll scratch your's b**h I'll eat ya salt-fish, if ya s** my sausage I got an atomic sub, armed wit a sub-atomic scud Ready to spill ya crimson-colored blood The four horsemen on the back of four quadripeds Puttin four hoof prints on ya foreheads, motherf**ers! (There it is!) So bop ya heads to that, uh (There it is!) [Hook] [Outro: k**ah Priest] f**in p**y emcee's, gon' get a shot in the eye Y'all n***as talk behind n***a's backs Y'all n***as better bop ya mothaf**in heads before we blow it off Ya f**in perfume missin idiots Y'all n***as always runnin, go run and tell that Go on, runnin, run behind somebody's back Run and tell that and take these f**in slugs wit ya We gon' get ya mothaf**in clown Yea...