MUSIC - MP3s - Lyrics


Doomsday, bring the funk
Oh, yah.
Yo. Ah.
Check this shit out

I roll straight pimping to the room of my lecture,
prepared to enrapture students with a mixture,
of hard-ass science and smooth-ass rhymes,
so phat you can't fit in my class sometimes.
I'm early, popping wheelies in the hall,
showing off the hydraulics to the hotties' enthralled,
with the Hawk, and yo, who can blame them?
I only got one thing larger than my brainstem.

One asks "How big are your rims?"
The answer's in my lap, the girl hopped in.
I cruised on to my appointed destination,
dropped the hottie in the front row and said, "be patient."
Now I'm rolling the chair with the bass turned up,
see a bitch T.A. got my latte in a cup.
I'm like, "Fuck! I said Mocha only!
I'll smack you so hard your ghost will be lonely."

He says, "No offense Dr. H, but your keyboard,
challenges your dexterity, and I think, more
challenging still would be your rising to the occasion,
readying the back of your hand, and its swift administration."
Now I'm consumed by rage,
I say, "I oughta bitchslap every last T.A."
He says "Yeah, you should. Wish you could.
But the arms you got don't extend that good."

I just smile as if all is forgiven,
but the glint in my eye betrays he is living,
on time that's been borrowed that I'll soon collect,
when I teach a hard lesson in cause and effect.
Bitch thinks he's funny showing off for his peers,
he's a newbie T.A. who does not know the fear,
and respect that is due, to the Hawk and his crew,
but he'll learn that and more by the time I'm through.

He'll get a...

Bitchslap (Ow!).
Oh, snap.
Punk motherfucker ain't worth a cap,
in his ass flap (Ugh!).
True dat.
No need for the gat,
or the baseball bat,
just a bitchslap (Ah!).
Oh, snap.
Punk motherfucker ain't worth a cap,
in his ass flap (Ow!).
True dat.
How'd I ever get a bitch T.A. like that?

Stayed up late that night, yo very busy,
got shizzy to dizzy-dazzle in the labora-tizzy.
Servos, motors, chains and gears,
mechanisms, the purpose of which is unclear.
Got all I need, my brain and a screwdriver,
the Hawk rocks inventing: Fuck MacGyver!
I got in mind, a practical design,
for a device to help keep T.A.'s in line.

Next day all is ready, the punk is oblivious,
no concept of how doomed he already is.
Cup in hand, again the wrong flavor,
I pause as he smirks so as I can savor,
the moment, then I say, "Bitch, I said Mocha.

Now you get the slapping." T.A. said,

"No, sir. I don't believe, that I'll receive, one of those from you,
but if you posit otherwise, let's see what you can do."

I was cool, made sure he understood,
then hit the button labeled "Extend that good."
With a whizz and a whir, unfolding from the chair,
came the robot arm shooting up into the air.
Wound back with a click, then aimed at the bitch,
steel palm, chrome knuckle on the backside switch.
It connected with the T.A.'s head,  velocity high, yo,
kinetic transfer to his pie-hole.

His head snapped back, his neck went crack,
he stood for a moment then his legs went slack.
My other T.A.'s who'd been grinning when he spoke,
got a serious expression on their faces, so,
I just rolled real slow on up to the lectern,
the lesson today, the Hawk can wreck your,
whole shit, so don't test,
or I'll put you on the list to get the bitchslap next.


Ah, yah.
MC Hawking kicking it with MC Frontalot
Let this be a lesson to all you punk bitches out there.
The Hawk can wreck your whole shit, so don't test.
A'ight. We be geese.