The Ripper Strikes Back

We just gon' have some fun with hip hop
Ha-ha!
A lil hip-hop, that's all
Relax, hold on to ya seats
Ha-ha! Uh-huh!
Oh, yeah, this is the Tunnel banger too!
Word up, this the Tunnel banger, baby
Hip-hop style, baby, y'all remember

By the middle of March, when the pregnancy starts
In your ladies' placenta; that means L just entered
Duct-taped your little bitch-ass for fronting
Your four-eleven crackhead ass ain't hurting nothing
Nigga, you want the fame?
Now, you're famous overnight (Ugh!)
Famous for getting fucked by a stick of dynamite
You're weak, nigga! You 'bout to die up in your sleep
The overlord of rap will never meet defeat
Pain to agony, I don't touch them zones
Fuck your epileptic lyrical methods! It's my throne
Blast your fifty-pound ass and make you float
You read it, shook nigga! I wrote the book, nigga!
Held down my crown for a decade and a half (half)
Now I'm 'bout to give your grimy ass a bloodbath
Talking 'bout being broke? Nigga, I'm rich!
'Cause I learned to separate the money from the bitch (bitch!)
Don't hate me 'cause I'm paid
Hate me 'cause I'm everything you want to be
Handsome; young; plus, legendary
Talking 'bout Farrakhan
Nigga, you better call Jesse Jackson for some affirmative action

Can-I-Bus? (Yes you can!)
Can-I-Bus? (Yes you can!)
Can-I-Bus? (Yes you can!)
Can-I-Bus? (Yes you can!)
Ugh!

Don't ever open your mouth and mention my seed
Talking 'bout my book you bought to read!
You know you watch my sitcom, nigga, so stop that
Mad rapper, but now you turned mad actor (hahahaha)
Forty-nine pounds and trying to be a mobster
Run around town with the Bob Marley impostors
Ask Canibus, he ain't understanding this
'Cause ninety-nine percent of his fans don't exist
I'm going underground and blowing your rep down
Next time, save that shit for the Lyricist Lounge
Or a house party, where you can battle some clown
On top of all that, I beat your homeless ass down
Heard that convicted rapist on the record, too (uh-huh)
Fresh out of jail, ass cheeks still black and blue (uh-huh! Ooh!)
Tell me 'bout the things Ear-Biter taught you
How to bust a nut or two? (Yeah, that's butter, boo)
You be decomposing, but you frozen because my title's golden
Steady rolling in a world that I'm controlling
Vanguard Awards are for kings who did tours
Climbed Platinum Mountain, so pray to the Lords!
Talking 'bout my first and second and third-born
Now I got a fourth, Canibus, but he cut off
From the riches of my empire, I'm like a pimp
Who thought he had to retire but found a new Can-I-Puss to hire
You're hardcore, in a sense, like Heather Hunter (huh!)
But definitely not with the lyrics that drop thunder
Found you in a trash can
Hot, black, 'cause you scared to bust
Nigga, in Todd we trust!

Can-I-Bus? (Yes you can!)
Can-I-Bus? (Yes you can!)
Can-I-Bus? (Yes you can!)
Can-I-Bus? (Yes you can!)
Now break it down for me!

See I, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat...
Eat amateur MCs!
Hahaha!
This real hip-hop!
Taking it back, baby! On some hip-hop!
Word up, no bullshit (uh-huh)
Oh, I ain't done yet! Ha-ha!
LL Cool J is hard as hell!

You soft as a newborn baby taking a nap
Made my dick hard with that bitch-ass track
Where you at? Smoking in some one-room flat?
Sucking on Clef's dick, hoping to come back?
Never that! Nigga, my styles is unlimited!
Yours is prohibited; of course, that's attributed...
To not knowing ya limits and who you need to test
(When you!) Step into the house of the Lord and get blessed!
Get on your knees; bow down to my decrees
Young slacker, save that demo for Jack the Rapper (yeah)
You gargoyle, slash-olive oil, pussycat
I've wrapped up in aluminum foil, ready to boil
I'mma tear the skin off your ass with ten knuckles
Rhymes was weak
They made me chuckle like a name-buckle (ha-ha!)
You call em lyrics, nigga you need to stop (stop!)
You going out! Ah, fuck it! You going pop
I feed you a poisonous verse, so don't try it
No more rhyming, you on a lyric-fast diet
Call the paramedic and tell them that he's pathetic
His lyrics ain't energetic; you're sweet as a diabetic
Career be over next year; yeah, I said it
Look over your shoulder, nigga! That's where you headed!
Motherfucker! Where's a rhyme when you need it?
First rule of lyrical war: Never repeat it
You said that same bullshit at House of Blues
Lit the pipe, dropped the match, and sparked the wrong fuse
Not new! Yeah, nigga, I'm going at you
Stop basing, and you can be a role model too
Diss my moms?! Who's the real rap don?
Who ruled for fifteen years and dropped bombs?
Who's copped solid gold Grammys and stayed calm?
LL! While you dropped verses at niggas' proms
Faggot! You better battle number two
'Cause number one got his title locked down, son!
The king of all rappers to ever grace the stage
Or the mic! Best that ever did it; I'm wicked
Write a verse and flip it; melt it down to liquid
And drown shorty; fill his lungs until I rip it
Chest busts open, heart bursts; it's smoking
You see that nigga, son? (Damn L, we was only joking)
Maneuver, manipulate brainwaves, transform
Your thought process, when my pen gets caressed
Warning: all MCs better retreat
Look at Corny-bus! He can't walk down his own street
Better run and get the Fugees (Oh-la-la-la-la)
'Cause I eat, eat, eat MCs
Devour they titles, 'cause I'm an idol-slash-icon
And tell Wyclef: don't even turn his fucking mic on
Soldier, nigga! Thought I told ya, nigga!
Crossover, slam dunk! Game over, nigga! (One more time, son!)
Soldier, nigga! Thought I told ya, nigga!
Crossover, slam dunk! Game over, nigga

Can-I-Bus? (Yes you can!)
Can-I-Bus? (Yes you can!)
Can-I-Bus? (Yes you can!)
Can-I-Bus? (Yes you can!)

Stay in your place! Nah'mean?
Now wait for the studio audience to applaud!
Faggot! Hahahaha