Can It (Remix)

Lyrics

[Intro: Pumpkinhead] Whoo! Yeah, haha. This is Pumpkinhead in the place to be. Natural Resource in the place to be. And what we bring to you today: Makin' Records all across the planet, from Japan to New York, damn it [Verse 1: Ocean (of Natural Resource)] (I get closer). This is caca. Man, fuck this shit I'm dealing with a species made of feces Their tracks sound like ass, their raps sound like ass They need to get blast 'cause they make me pass gas Flatulate on 'em, straight defecate on 'em Shit on 'em, drop and cop a squat on 'em Don't warn 'em. No alarm 'Cause after their written freestyles is done, it's on That Natural Resource shuttle's about to lift off I shit on emcees and leave them pissed off I get off like sperming Sitting on the toilet bowl, writing and squirming You gave me diarrhea—now my ass is burning Why you up in my business like you got a permit? 'Cause the way I see it, I should grab some toilet paper and wipe my ass 'Cause the way that I'm making you sweat I could use that same tissue and wipe off your brow 'Cause, nowadays, nukkas stay up in my shit Every place I go, they're up in my whip If they're not not up in my whip, then they're up in my lip They might as well be cupping my dick But that's the price that I got to play when DJs are loving my shit I feel like, like rubbing some clit. OK, that's not needed Let us get back to these shit stains of which I just secreted (Don't listen to that nigga. He weeded. Haha) If they're hotter than us, then them motherfuckers cheated If you want the real-to-real, then you best to listen, pops We got these other rap cats out here, shitting rocks If it's not ill like the chickenpox, then it's not The hot shit we drop in the litterbox And we're not gonna let you in 'Cause your dumb ass didn't knock. You didn't knock [Hook: Pumpkinhead] (x2) If it's hot, it's hot. If it's not Can it, goddamn it. Makin' Records all across the planet If you can't understand it We pack shows like mass transit and "Control" like Janet [Verse 2: Pumpkinhead] Pumpkinhead, the illest cat on the rap scene What you don't know: I hold flows like canteens Scaring the shit out of emcees like a bad dream Me, Ocean, What? What? on this track tag-team It's a sad thing that your rap is dull. Mine has mad swing And I'm laughing at what your ass bring Put your ass in a sling. Makin' Records Making moves like Fred Berry—What's Happening!! It's rap shattering, bruising, battering. Ain't no battling Too challenging. I got you up a river with no paddling If you got a headache, take an aspirin And if the bed break, it's 'cause your girl was straddling my manly thing I'm like a linebacker, tackling rappers babbling O.B.S. up in your rest like wall-to-wall paneling Beats, bass, 808, kicks, snares crackling Over the tambourine. I'm orange like a tangerine So, to me, your jibber jabbering is obsolete When I start my dibbling, dabbling I'll have your whole crew panicking, bouncing like a trampoline Screaming, "Damn, this man is mean" Quick to burn you like gasoline or kerosene, bruh My rhymes damaging, bruh Break legs like eggs before scrambling, bruh And what you handling, bruh, is rambling, bruh And worth cancelling, bruh [Interlude: Pumpkinhead] You suck. (You suck. Word up. Ha) [Hook: Pumpkinhead] (x2) If it's hot, it's hot. If it's not Can it, goddamn it. Makin' Records all across the planet If you can't understand it We pack shows like mass transit and "Control" like Janet [Verse 3: What? What? (aka Jean Grae) (of Natural Resource)] Yo, watch New York skyline, hang in the frame I find myself walking streets, stalking beats to maintain Up on the whole block, rocking steady. Niggas calling for rain It's summertime, y'all. Call for something to tame The savage beast in us the beginnings of all things From life to hip hop, we drop the science of kings (And the queens) Brothers be calling my shit "The Head Knocker" I'll rock to get your clique open down in Osaka The top-notch hopscotch over competitors You ready for metaphors that are better than yours? Then think twice. What? double-edged verbal knife slice I'm raw, the vice grip 'round a mic and a cord To slip never. Too clever with the word in a phrase A pen and a page and bound to leave the crowd in a daze The Last Dragon Enter the stage and blaze shit up Fade to black but always leave the microphone lit up Assassin, professional action, word-blasting No capes and mask but wax and a passion For smashing emcees, sledge-hammering weak shit I freaks it on some incredible sweet shit Unique shit, dripping lines, spitting, track-ripping Written to stay hitting y'all, verbal shot-licking Stay in the hot kitchen, whipping y'all to submission Position tight, What? coming like a thief in the night [Hook: Pumpkinhead] (x3) If it's hot, it's hot. If it's not Can it, goddamn it. Makin' Records all across the planet If you can't understand it We pack shows like mass transit and "Control" like Janet [Outro: Pumpkinhead] Like what? (Uh). Like uh. (Uh). Natural Resource (Yeah, ha, yeah), Pumpkinhead (Yo, ha). Ha. Yeah. (From New York to Japan. What?). O.T., Makin' Records in the place to be. (From New York to Japan. Ha). Uh. (Yeah). O.B.S. (Yeah, yeah). Hah. '98. (Ha). Unique shit. Word up. (Rock steady, Japan. What? What?). Yeah. (Yeah)