Ill Mind Of Hopsin 3 lyrics - Hopsin

They tell me that my vibe is too dark, my eyes are too harsh

That's all I ever hear when I rhyme a few bars

I kinda live a rapper's life, shit, minus two cars

And free girls to fuck

'Cause where I'm from the hynas do charge

My label hyped me up

And told me I had about twelve hits—they lied

'Cause when my fuckin' album dropped, I didn't sell shit

Well, bitch, you tried to fuck my life up? You nailed it!

'Cause you didn't promote my record

And I don't know who the hell did

You shoulda hired Tanner Guinn, yup, Hop is mad again

Just enough to leave your little skull frame hammered in

See, this is what happens when I take that little magic pen

And get to scribblin' psychotic lines worth some damagin'

I hate to tell you, but you are crazy

You were born as a retard baby

And when I come around, you start shaking

'Cause you're a bitch who dates hard ladies

With big beards who say, "Arr, matey!"

Yo, Pillow Man the alias Hopsin has been the signature

I'm far from similar to you niggas whose flow is minature

You'll be diminished for crossin' limits on my perimeter

I'm not a gimmick, I'm a committed, demented, sinister

It's Funk Volume, now what?

If you thinkin' that rap's officially dead, you haven't found us

We built the movement from the ground up, your sound sucks

Until now we let you slide, but you're now fucked

It's just reality, you posers done been wack

I hold it down like my boner in gym class

And fuck Wayne! Man, I'm doper than his ass

Him, Nicki, and Drake can get thrown over a cliff fast

You got cash? Big whoop-dee-fuckin'-doo!

If I had a knife right now, it would be stuck in you

Yo, you ain't gonna like this corner that you pushed me up into

'Cause all you rap about's how you beat the pussy up and ooze

Fuck your fast car, your cheap singin'

You keep sayin' the same shit, while T-Painin'

And we bangin' simply because it's all we hear

Man, look at all these queers

The shit is so watered-down I developed soggy ears

Kill me! Shit, I'm waitin' to die, bitches

I hate on all you rappers who made it, 'cause I didn't

And I admit it, man, I ain't gon' bullshit y'all

As long as you walkin' away sayin' that fool spits raw

Yo, I'm from the West, I throw up the W and I stay hot

But still ain't mentioned

With Nipsey Hu$$le, Glasses, or Jay Rock

What I gotta do, dig 'Pac up out of his grave spot

And wear his face as a mask to my next show to create props?

People always ask why do I sound mad

'Cause I ain't got a girlfriend with a round ass

And all my fuckin' dinners come in a brown bag

How sad! I need a crossroad to get found at

Most rappers be in a six-four

I prefer a big horse, lit torch, and a pitchfork

While you out late workin' your shift when the kids snore

I'm fuckin' your wife while the bitch snorts

Wearin' swim shorts

I got a message on Facebook from some lame guy

And he was like, "Hopsin, dude! I fucking HATE life!

I wanna rap, but I have stage fright, and I can barely write

And I never make music that the babes like!

And when I come home from school, I wait 'til late night

And bump your music really super-loud

And paint my face white

For real, bro, if you just help me, dude

I swear to God, I'll do anything you tell me to!"

Whoa, don't hit me up tryna suck my dick!

'Cause I'm a guy, and I would rather fuck five chicks

With some plump nice tits and the butt size thick

So I can hit the G-spot that only tough guys hit

So if you hear a rumor that I rape mics, it's true

When I drop RAW, that will be the day I get sued

Damon Elliot, I might as well just say bye to you

Fuck the industry! Go out and get Haywire too!