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Hip-Hopopotamus vs. The Rhymenocerous
I’m the mother flippin’ Rhymenocerous
My beats are fly and the birds are on my back
And I’m horny
I’m horny
If you choose to proceed you will indeed concede
Cos I hit you with my flow
The Wild Rhino Stampede.
I’m not just wild, I’m trained,
Domesticated
I was raised by a rapper and rhino that dated
And subsequently procreated
That’s how it goes
Here’s the Hiphopopotamus
The hip hop hippo
They call me the Hiphopopotamus
My lyrics are bottomless
They call me the Hiphopopotamus
Flows that glow like phosphorous
Poppin’ off the top of this esophagus
Rockin’ this metropolis
I’m not a large water-dwelling mammal
Where did you get that preposterous hypothesis?
Did Steve tell you that, perchance?
Steve.
My rhymes and records they don’t get played
Because my records and rhymes they don’t get made
And if you rap like me you don’t get paid
And if you roll like me you don’t get laid.
My rhymes are so potent that in this small segment
I made all of the ladies in the area pregnant
Yes, sometimes my lyrics are sexist
But you lovely bitches and hoes should know I’m trying to correct this.
Other rappers dis me
Say my rhymes are sissy.
Why? Why? Why?
What?
Why exactly?
What? Why?
Be more constructive with your feedback, please. Why?
Why?
Why, because I rap about reality?
Like me and my grandma drinking a cup of tea?
There ain’t no party like my nanna’s tea party.
Hey! Ho!
I’m the motherflippin’
I’m the motherflippin’
I’m the motherflippin’
Who’s the motherflippin?
I’m the motherflippin’
I’m the motherflippin’
I’m the motherflippin’
Motherflippin’
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Think About It
There’s children on the street using guns and knives
Taking drugs and each other’s lives
Killing each other with knives and forks
Calling each other names like ‘dork’
There’s people on the street getting diseases from monkeys
Yeah, that’s what I said - they’re getting diseases from monkeys
Now there’s junkies with monkey disease
Who’s touching these monkeys, please
Leave these poor sick monkeys alone
They’ve got problems enough as it is.
Man’s lying on the street
Some punk’s chopped off his head
I’m the only one who stops
To see if he’s dead
Mmm…
Turns out he’s dead.
And that’s why I’m singing
What…what is wrong with the world today?
What is wrong with the world today?
(Jemaine mumbles)
What…what is wrong with the world today?
You gotta think about it
Think think about it.
Good cops been framed and put into a can.
All the money that we’re making is going to the man.
What man?
Which man?
Who’s the man?
When’s a man a man?
What makes a man a man?
Am I a man?
Yes. Technically I am.
They’re turning kids into slaves just to make cheaper sneakers.
But hat’s the real cost?
‘Cause the sneakers don’t seem that much cheaper.
Why are we still paying so much for sneakers
When you got them made by little slave kids
What are your overheads?
Well, at the end of your life, you’re lucky if die,
Sometimes I wonder why we even try.
I saw a man lying on the street half dead
With knives and forks sticking out of his leg.
And he said,
“Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow
Can somebody get that knife and fork out of my leg, please?
Can somebody please remove these cutleries from my knees?”
And then we break it down.
This is where we break it down
Ooh
This is where we break it down
Aah
This is where we do the whoa-o-o-o
Break it down
This is where we build it up now
We build it up now
We build it up now
We build it up now
We build it up now
Build it up
And then we stop
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