P3 - Scott-Jop lyrics

[Verse 1: Stann Smith] Dope as I could be No name hoodie Sold counterfeit sh** to your cla** bully Buzz like Woody you can't see the hits I'm on their a** like Huggies with all that bullsh** I play Yugi-Oh cards And con k**ers in cards Second deals and false shuffles For cash is how I hustle My past... such a present My fans say I'm the future My teachers say I'm brighter than bra** but I maneuver I pa**... False humor I laugh and keep it moving With cats... that smoke hash and cut Cubans That second hand make my asthma start fuming So I'm back BOOM BAP I'm like the black Rick Rubin You follow fake pimps 'cuz you wanna get brain bad I got enough Curren$y to make ya Dame Dash Try to sleep on me said I sound like Ye' It's "808S And Heartbreak" on every beat I play EVERY... [Verse 2: P3] If they all Christians... f** it call me Dior Leave 'em all depressed, like Eeyore Lanes merge ahead so I had to form a detour I'm tryna run the whole Atlantic like Lior And they all recall, the rhymes that I write I guess they like every last line that I write My father said "Why you up this time of night?" "'Cuz dad it's my time, so yes the time is right" EVERY... And f** XXL with they top 11 Freshmen I'm like Larry Bird sneakers, I'm a weapon I take 1st, never satisfied with 2nd When I sceam EVERY you know just what I'm reppin' I go hard like watchin' Nicki Minaj strip They couldn't get the picture, I enlarged it I'm Old Skool like a streets of rage cartridge No strings Attached on some broken guitar sh**... Aw sh**, P3! [Verse 3: Stann Smith] Metaphor strike poetically I'm Bill Bellamy I could teach you how to be a player for a felony Every hard bars 'A leave you in squad cars I never cared Turn a double dare to an Aardvark Besides being poor was important We needed imported goods to pay for our mortgage But I was the big if I pitched ideas they pitched bricks I pitched my only single to blade to get spinned I never rapped to be cool I never thought it was Back when I would battle in school and rock Nauticas Have the biggest crowds in the room just recording us You know Rap travel like news the beat coroner And honestly I got them beats to make ya spouse jump And I got them songs to make a crowd of nuns riled up Fruits of my labor making juice to surround us And I turn into a beast for my peach like Bowser (Wowsers)