Lyrics Bitch Rappers & Metaphors - Joe Budden

Whoa yeah, it's your boy Jumpoff Beezy man
AKA Regular Joe, AKA That Dude
Shout out to all the mixtape DJs and shit
Stack, what up nigga
Webb, turn my vocals up a little bit
See, what we gonna do is we gonna rhyme like
The other niggas and shit with the bullshit rhymes
Putting a whole bunch of words together just because

And niggas is really listening to that shit like:
"Yo, he's hot", not
I think niggas might have forgot what the word "hot" is
Fucking with all these metaphor niggas with the bullshit like
"I'm flat like plasma"
"I smoke like forest fires and all this dumb shit"
"I'm cool like AC's"
"I bang like bangers," ha, some dumb shit

So we gonna have to teach niggas how to rap again
Niggas might have forgot, go ahead and help them out
We recording? Are we recording?
Alright, just making sure man
It's, it's, it's (Mood Music, the worst of Joe Budden, messed up)
(DJ On Point)

Moving on now, we done with the no names
Now put the purple in the air like soul plane
Point blank when hammers is out
I'll have it right up on your skin
It's like the plastic on your grandma couch
In the hood somebody's telling, cops cuff and arresting
So it's somebody else besides Usher confessing
Spray y'all clip team
Y'all broke but the day y'all get cream is the day y'all meet the AR-15

Jason Bourne niggas sent right after a guy
The dudes that say word to they seed right after they lie
So when I spot 'em or see 'em
I'ma play the graveyard realtor in charge of every mausoleum
Buying 900 gallons of dip
In the crib, the living room wall is 900 gallons of fish
The block is fucked up, my son's feeling is helpless
I see why everybody in slum village is selfish, nigga

Yeah man
Shoutout to Fab Stat, eighteen model
E'erybody on top of they ping game
Been holding it down for so many years
Yeah, shoutout to the haters too
Hi haters
It's, it's (it's what, it's that On Top Music) okay

Hard to imagine the game without me
Even mixtapes just ain't been the same without me
And anytime beef is on or the heat is on
I'm on some Nelly shit in New Jerz, getting my Eagle on
Niggas wanna rep, better watch your back
Even little niggas is jumping now they Robert Pack
And there's great artists out there struggling to get a joint across
While wack niggas need nine minutes to get a point across

When will you cowards learn, though?
I only fuck chicks looking like they off the Howard Stern Show
I love when black youths do they numbers and all
Make hits to make them little kids run to the store
But it's like rappers ain't got no hunger at all
And niggas albums don't leave you with a hunger for more
Say Joe, leave it alone accept it, they lost
But I'm a addict, got a problem with beating a dead horse, nigga

Simple, man see two way, your boy next time you drop, man
No more mixtapes, hit the street without the kid on it
That's how we gon' do it, y'all must've forgot like Roy Jones
That's one of then wack metaphors the niggas be using, too

Yo, I'm hot like the sun
I am cooler than the other oh yeah, nigga said that
You ain't cooler than the other side of the pillow, nigga
Cut me off, man
It's (it's what?) it's that On Top, woah