U Know Who It Is - CHOPS

Sooner or later some shit like this was bound to happen

Witness the sound of a classic

Like Enter The Dragon, found yourself drown in acid

Each and every time my sounds is blasting

Breaking beat makers down to fractions

You play around with matches

Surrounded with gas from folks you hang around

But that’s just smoke up your clown asses

Funny how cats just, throw they weight around bragging

Talking a mound of trash but found trapped in my basement

Bound and gagged and now who’s laughing?

Get down ya bastards

Cow Tao bow to the master

Powerful tracks and rapping;

how 'bout that shit?

Y’all 'bout to eat the gun neat like a pound of chapstick

Track wizard, powerful magic

Cast a spell, you cats out looking sorry like Ms. Jackson

My efforts is deffer than a closed caption backspin

The rhythm make equivalent of Chow Yun-Fat with two gats blasting

Everyone knowing that butcher’s on the beat, yo

(You know who it is)

«Ya nahmean?»

«Chops, the butcher baby, magnificent» — Mountain Brothers 'Birds Of Paradise"

«Chops burn the house down» — Mountain Brothers 'Opin Wide'

My beats rhymes and bars is all I have left

Without or with a group, grandmaster of badness

House of Ill Repute, Landcaster Ave, the address

Grab the mic and wear it out like a hoe’s mattress

I spit just the facts like Dragnet

Attract fans like a magnet

Use your head for something else beside a hat rest

You know them faces the crowd is making

From the nasty rhymes you thought you was kicking;

that was bad breath

Mad heads wanna bring drama than cable access

Just some local cats that’s dummies

Getting ready to feel hurt like a crash test

Be sweating more than a porno actress that’s…taking a math test

You ain’t paid no dues, got some bad debts, writing bad checks

To video tricks to flash flesh

To cover the fact that you express wackness

Just a bunch of Shallow Hal’s can’t see my phatness like…

Dedicated to heads I looked out for and ain’t did shit for me

It’s all good cause I got a master plan like Mister Cee

'Bout to savor the taste of victory

While y’all separated like six degrees

It ain’t sweet like Crispy Creme

Meanwhile the whole industry fienda be hit by me

Anticipate the buzz like when you twist the tree

Cause this will be be

The moment where the rubber hits the street

Because my shit’s complete

Chops be spitting heat over top of the sickest beats

Heads bobbing instinctively

And every city know my mix is mean

Bass and snares, hats, kicks crisp and clean

Still you ask the kid will I spit sixteen?

It’s a mystery

See I might get all in your mouth like Listerine

Make the house rip at the seams

Whole crowd shit they jeans

Right before I be out and split the scene

Or I might chill and not say shit like Mr. Bean