"Hip Hop" as written by and Francis Stephen Michael Johnson....
Yeah huh
(hip hop hip hop hip hop)
Turn the mic up a little bit
(hip hop)
Get some of this Cali weedo
(hip hop)
Listen to some motherfuckin'
(hip hop)
Haha
(Sounds like gold, sounds like street, whoo
Niggas know they gettin' told what they mama did
The rump bumpa bum bum in the jeep
These people know what I do with the M-P-C)

Hip hop, (hip hop) That's the way of life
If you think you're nice, then go grab the mic
Let me tell you my story, cause everybody got one
Grab the pen and pad, and start to jot some
Always told myself, that I would never be losin
Man, I ain't have no hood, my mother was always movin
From Detroit to Texas, Texas to Detroit
Goddamn, mama, what's the point?
So I would go in my room and pack my little bags
Jump in the truck, with my step-dad
When I was 10 years old, I started to feel the hunger
Got a little older, then the force got stronger
And me and my rap partner wasn't seein' eye to eye
So we picked up and started a group with some other guys
This is hip hop (hip hop)
Man, I won't stop
Yo Big Boi! "What up?" Give me a beat box
(beatbox)

Hip hop, hip hop
Hip hop
Hip hop (hip)
Hip hop!
Sounds like gold, sounds like street, (whoo)
Niggas know they gettin' told what they mama did (whoo)
The rump bumpa bum bum in the jeep
These people know what I do with the M-P-C

From the hip hop Shop to Maurice Malone
Ten years later, I'm still in the zone
7 Mile and Foyer where a star was born
United we stand, divided we swore (D12!)
Hell yeah, I looked in my car
Bitch, I was homeless, I slept in a jar
And Dirty Management, I wish y'all the best
But me and my niggas had to do what's best, it was a mess
All them taxes and accounts
Checks started to bounce, niggas couldn't by an ounce
And now that we platinum, they diss our name
Like we won't go the car and get them things
And beef, sometimes you don't have a choice
From the fight with Whitey Ford to the Beastie Boys
To the Ja Rules, Benzinos, and the niggas in the club
To the E Dubbs and niggas that you ain't heard of
And man, I don't know how to use a gun
But I'll learn quick if the fuckin' beef come
{gun sprays}

Hip hop, hip hop
Hip hop
Hip hop (hip)
Hip hop!
Sounds like gold, sounds like street, (whoo)
Niggas know they gettin' told what they mama did (whoo)
The rump bumpabumbum in the jeep
These people know what I do with the M-P-C

Man, I thought this was supposed to be hip hop, hip hop
I'd rather be fishin' in flip flops, flip flops
Or cross over to country like Kid Rock, and I
Can't see no country singers beefin' over some guitar
Riff to Willie Nelson lifted from Bob Seeger
When I was younger I was so eager
To have a gun, I would do the same
Couldn't wait to get to the shootin' range
Me and my man Goofy Gary just tryna let loose some steam
Motherfuckers laughin' cause I couldn't aim
So I pulled the fuckin' target closer and just shoot the thing
I used to have this theory, keep three bullets in the gun
It was a mandatory year up here in Michigan
For each bullet if you got no C-C-W license
I tried to apply for one, they said it take 5-6 months
What the fuck am I supposed to do meanwhile when rivals come?
Hide that son of a bitch in the glove box or inside the trunk
Now back to what my three-bullet theory was
I'm triple-platinum, I ain't tryna catch no murder 1
Figured I'd shoot the womb, probably missin' at least one
But the other one's fuck his shoulder and his knee cap up
And I'm a say for self-defense how come I had the gun
Is because I was at the range, on my way back from
This dude approached me on some bullshit
I'll get a year for each bullet at the most as opposed to
Havin' a full clip in that
That was my idiotic logic, it was basically for safety
But it gave me power, and it made me crazy
And psychotic, I just got retarded
Once I got and I thank God it was empty the night I got caught with it
What the fuck man, I thought that it was supposed to be

Hip hop, hip hop
Hip hop
Hip hop (hip)
Hip hop!
Sounds like gold, sounds like street, (whoo)
Niggas know they gettin' told what they mama did (whoo)
The rump bumpabumbum in the jeep
These people know what I do with the MPC


Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings

"Hip Hop" as written by Francis Stephen Michael Johnson

Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

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Hip Hop song meanings
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