M.o.p. - May I Introduce Myself? lyrics

(Intro) (Bridge) See the guy on the cover? It ain't me, That n***a hates me I'm JarBag, and that's Jarred Don't worry, He's dead That's why I'm leaving school Cos I blew off his f**ing head k**ed his dad too, but that's not what the feds said (Verse 1) Miniature crime story, My life's violent and gory f** an allegory, My songs immorally wrong I'm off and on, like you once you found out Djed wears a thong I have a bad reception, giving you bad impressions Going to s** ed lessons, screaming out "f** contraception!" The worst since 9/11 and 7/7 combined! And my birth was years behind n***a, I was only born in '99! So me saying rude sh** is now fine I don't know how to count, but I can shot you a Playstation I can't see right, cos Lewis gave me two faces And these racist do-rag-wearing haters, accuse JarBag and black guys of being murderers and rapist's So basically, I live in a city where it's cool to talk back Ladies get smacked, cars get jacked f** opinions, we're just in-forced with facts We take crack, live in council flats and pay a sh** load of tax And die by 25, from gang sh**, or being fat But f** it, No lie, I'm becoming a stereotype in a society that I terrorize Adolescence has left us idiot in many variations This is my demonstration that circulation leaves elementary beyond explanation I'm an irritable fool Whenever I want to So JarBag fits my name, just like the fonts do And if you hate me? Guess what? f** you (Verse 2) f** a hook, I'mma just go right back in Write lyrics bout drug abuse, and extreme violence And try and diss, rappers richer than me For constant s** puns, and gun crime on prime time TV And say the grind cos they smoke weed, and pay £2000 fines And lie like Rick Ross, bout there past life In spite the fact, they a** wipes And get ga**ed cos they drop a few sh** hits, Like Kriss Kross And talk about how they the boss, and make dumb fans think they're selling rocks And have the balls to say it's hip-hop and not pop Sorry, I get pissed off a lot I can't socially, my brain aches So when I scream "Ay" and say "Hey", You know you're f**ed Like kids when a pedophile comes, saying what's up? (What's up?) This mixtape was made to s** you're money So don't try anything funny, cos I got nine to the head of you're mummy Airing you, like you after a punch in the tummy Coming at you, till you actually cumming And I'm gunning these scumbag f*gs, who love JarBag when he sells a bit And excels in the way he spits in his sh**, and this is my introduction to me So but my f**ing tape 'Fore I k** you're family