Crooked I - Woodstock Hood Hop lyrics

[Intro: M.O.P.] Hahaha... they think they rid ourselves We definitely got to give the drummer somethin (c'mon!) Slaughterhouse (c'mon!) M.O.P. (c'mon!) Everybody (c'mon!) [Joell Ortiz:] H-E- (what?) L-L-O, I'm one hell of a show I'm the best, you stuck in the middle like L-M-N-O I'll piss on you, let every toxic elements go All you pussies is f**ed, call me now celibate Joe (ay!) Ay Slaughterhouse, let's go rock "Ed Sullivan Show" I literally can't front, I'm back like never befo' (oh!) I'm a rap my letter to hoes Dear prostitute, I miss y'all lettin me slap my head on your nose Where the f** is my guitar? It couldn't of went far Oh yeah, I smashed it on homie head in that Brook-lyn bar Man I'm somewhere in between a crook and a star Had some more bars but I left my rap book in the car (yo yo yo yo yo) [Chorus: M.O.P.] Yo, this that Woodstock hood hop Hands up if you f**in with it We reppin Brooklyn (c'mon!) Jersey (c'mon!) Long Beach (c'mon!) Detroit (c'mon!) [Crooked I:] Geah, spaz out, knock a n***a a** out Knew he had a paper thin chin and a gla** mouth West Coast sh**, seven-deuce gla** house Got a (Lil' Fame) so me and my (Posse Mash Out) (ohh!) I ain't got a college degree Just a circle of bosses, the Slaughter's in me - pardon me G I just wanna f** your daughter and flee And leave all that marriage sh** in the background like I'm Father MC Ha ha, co*ky, but don't be a copycat When you see me rockin that, L.A. Kings hockey hat I'm the king of L.A., do you copy that? It's time for some change like Obama in a laundry-mat [Chorus] [Royce Da 5'9":] Do y'all want problems with us? I guess not Broadcastin live from a Pyrex pot The steeets know that we nice, try your best shot Speech coded in ice, dialect's hot Everybody (c'mon!) get cool Beef in big shoes, gun talkin repetitive call it chipped fool You ain't never heard of me mami you excused I don't only diss dudes You sleepin on us, that's what it is - just understand That I ain't gettin a wink of sleep 'til you lookin at the back of your lids I'm a lyrical ounce of PIFF Still countin them chips, for real mami, Slaughterhouse in this {"b*tch!"} [Chorus] [Joe Budden:] Look, I'm not a gang-banger, more like game changer With tamed anger, alias lover name changer Liable to pop at kids and aim flamers I'm why your parents told you not to entertain strangers Dope get it, top notch, flow sickest Best out, don't blame me it's no spitters So vicious on the road to riches From now on call Mr. Weiss, they chasin all of your old b**hes From the hood New Jersey and I claim this Oxymoron, rob with the dirty and stainless co*k back, high saddity so I keep the top back So when the streets is watchin, I could watch back [Chorus x2]