Poops - It Doesn't Matter lyrics

[Intro: Poops] f** it. Let's call this a promo. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. Yeah. This is how we're gonna do it. I am the one they call “Poops.” Many don't know my name. Check it. Still, it doesn't matter. Park Slope. Son, yeah. Uh. Check [Verse 1: Poops] It doesn't matter if you was raised in a hard place ‘Cause I still leave your squad laced Watch it, ghetto boy, as if I was Scarface I'm moving in an odd pace of motion Music's a notion. And when played I use a verse to surf over soundwaves I'm live with my vibe with whoms I reside To energize many lives, I murder—you heard, yeah? When I go all-out, MCs play the inside like a paranoid hermit The political war started and the president's my target So these next bars written were made to imprison Clinton As he listens, he's offered to a trapped hostage Our metamorphous developed by our rap arts When are the lies done from snakes that are fake? As an item from a black market. A musical mercenary Who will accomplish and conquer this industry Dictating misery through my delivery Mentally, through sound, dominating Earth to become my emba**y Houses scream, “Punishment,” tortures are so extreme Never seen—none expected me ‘cause the Lethal, unconcentrated evil was camouflaged by a mellow melody Toxic, hypnotic copies got grit Taking your mind hostage with garbage Once you like it, you could try, man But an escape is useless as a blind man's optics You got it. Once I state a line, I invade your state of mind To be coming so bright with intellect and to reflects light of a greater shine Poops is a gentleman? Guess again. Pure, living hell Is how I prevail, won the best with them I be wrecking and first to a frail skeleton Then to a single-cell specimen [Outro: Poops] Yeah. Something like that. Keeping it more than real—just a mic, a tape deck, and an aerosol. For Bobbito, 89 Tec 9. Check the rhyme. Stretch Armstrong