Don’t Stop

Lyrics

[Verse 1: Suffa] Hahaha I make b-girls say, "Rock me", b-boys say, "Not me" I give props to any MC who try to stop me I look at 'em, throw my rhyme book at 'em, see which rap he feels And make him hate himself like bulimics eatin' Happy Meals (Uh, uh) I'll sap your skills like sex saps your endurance Fuck hip-hop purists ([?]), still Hoods are passin' judgement like we're jurors Who is? Me and Fats, 'cause we hate clones I'm livin' phat, you're livin' skinny like DJ Bonez Uh, this kid is the one to make you clap like chlamydia Props to true friends: Baz, Flak, and Olivia Consider The Certified the kings of the city, the Wise rock live from here to Bolivia Italy to Sicily, Tripoli to Gallipoli I'm flippin' the mic, ain't nobody rippin' me So clap your hands to the beatbox This rapper's standin' in his Reeboks Yo, we rock cities like Grateful Dead rockin' old folks And cops sweat me on the reg' like I was strapped and I sold dope [?] not either or, we the raw Open your eyes, I'll show you things you never seen before When we on tour, we live on cigarettes and gubana (Uh) My mates live on junk food and marijuana My armour's my b-boy battle gear, yeah, we here And b-boys flock to me like I was free weed and free beer [Scratches: DJ Debris] "Rock-rock ya" "Don't stop" "Rock-rock ya" "Don't stop" [Chorus: Pressure] And if you don't stop, then The Hoods won't stop, and The Hoods won't stop if The loop don't stop, and If you don't stop, then The Hoods won't stop, and The Hoods won't stop if The beat don't stop [Interlude: Suffa] Here we go It's almighty Pressure MC in the house All right, bring it to 'em Take 'em to school; don't stop! [Verse 2: Pressure] Ain't it funny how the World seems to run on a profit, that's why rappers Check for me like their wallets, I'm deeper than a klepto's pockets So when rock it, you don't wanna battle, boy, get off it FM stations got no plugs for me, I simply pull 'em out your sockets Debris, drop it, this beat is hella Now we the fellas droppin' the third endurable [?] I believe I never seen my better Still, MCs try and push me around 'cause I'm the only peer [?] MCs are never [?] rockin' mics, change out my style Like ugly women swap to dykes if that's what she like [?] these long days make for longer nights While I come correct, you're still confused about wrong and right I'm on a tight schedule to murder all fakes 'Cause I hate 'em like people up in my personal space Not even thermals will make your shit hot, rehearsal's a waste You ain't got it, you ain't got it, it ain't personal, mate I'm kinda happy bein' me, you ain't happy with yourself Like Biz Markie in a nappy tryna take samples for free (Haha) Now even crack fiends agree we got the rock that you feel, I Bring a bass to your dome more than servin' crack dealers I'm tirin' of old, uninspirin' and sold-outs Designed for the mould, so keep your lips sealed, silence is gold [?] I walk the hills amongst giants of old Revoke your license to ill while your album [?] sold [Scratches: DJ Debris] "Stop-stop" "Rock-rock ya" "Stop-stop- Stop-stop" [Chorus: Pressure] And if you don't stop, then The Hoods won't stop, and The Hoods won't stop if The loop don't stop, and If you don't stop, then The Hoods won't stop, and The Hoods won't stop if The beat don't stop