Hip Hop Call Me Karizma

[Intro]
You know, I really don't think this kid should be doing music
I mean, he's got--he'd got stuff to do
You know, he's got stuff to do
Like I mean, he needs to go to college
He needs to get a real job
I mean, this is crazy right
This is not how we raised this boy
He does this shit everyday

[Verse 1]
I've been on tour, for like a minute
My temperature, call it a midget
Forget it, itching for more, until I get it
I've written, scribbled and torn for my vision
I listen, listen, I'm poor
I'm sick of pissing and wishing that I was yours
But I'm sitting and kicking it on the porch
With the paper, like you get at the store
I'm sick of rhyming like this, shit
Find the right kind of type blond or white chic
That's fine with my kind of job on the mic
Since I'm a rapper, I happen to grab a lap or two
Laugh at you
As your girl go some with me, I bring her back black and blue
I had to do it
Sit down and listen to my past with music
I pass with music
I'm fucking sick
My knuckles quick to punch a kid
If he makes fun of my love for this hip hop