(Hook)
This is that Suburbian Bop, you heard me a lot
Thumpin' down your urban block in a Convertible drop
Or a burgundy Dodge depending on your currency drive
With your girl on my crotch with her friend twirling some pot
This is that Suburbian Bop, you heard me a lot
Threatened by the words that I drop and prefer me to flop
I’m like a horrorcore horror flick too lurky to watch
No concern for the cops, This is that Suburbian Bop
(Verse 1)
Back in High School my rhymin’ was original
My mind was hypocritical, the sky was where my limits to
Options they’re providing us, confining us and minuscule
In fact I wrote these rhymes on the assignments that I didn’t do
Fuck a school cop, nuggets in my tube socks
Plus the lunch monitor just took away my boom box
My best friend just expelled for having ganja
I guess the K-9’s sniffin' must’ve smelled it in his locker
Can’t even wear hats or backpacks in the hallways
And all day security cameras within the crawl space
We all slaves to our fear of defiance
Tryna find a peaceful balance between spirit and science
Politics and gossip, invitations to tag along
A process where innovation is frowned upon
Following damn fools for a secondary cause
Established, ordained rules ain’t necessary laws.
(Hook)
It’s that Suburbian Bop, you heard me a lot
Thumpin' down your urban block in a Convertible drop
Or a burgundy Dodge depending on your currency drive
With your girl on my crotch with her friend twirling some pot
This is that Suburbian Bop, you heard me a lot
Threatened by the words that I drop and prefer me to flop
I’m like a horrorcore horror flick too lurky to watch
No concern for the cops, This is that Suburbian Bop
(Verse 2)
I’m from an area where kids are off the hinge
Where they carry rigs and wax pens to offer a smidge
Half are back from rehab, half relapsing back in
Don’t walk barefoot, cause you might just step on a syringe
But it ain’t all bad, in the summer it’s bomb
The colors of fall, rip an entire blunt through a bong
So roll me some chron, as if I’m Redman if you fuck with it
Rockin’ sweatpants, headband with a dutch in it
Dumb critics couldn’t see me on your best day
Checkmate, got you head noddin’ till your neck breaks
Until you gotta rock a chiropractic neck brace
Specifically designed to keep bobbin’ to my cassette tapes
And I hate to be the bearer of bad news
But cash rules along with gas fuels and fast foods
And I ain’t rebelling with guns and a weapon
Cause every session I’m blessing is like a public confession
(Hook)
This is that Suburbian Bop, you heard me a lot
Thumpin' down your urban block in a convertible drop
Or a burgundy dodge depending on your currency drive
With your girl on my crotch with her friend twirling some pot
This is that Suburbian Bop, you heard me a lot
Threatened by the words that I drop and prefer me to flop
I’m like a horrorcore horror flick too lurky to watch
No concern for the cops, This is that Suburbian Bop
(Verse 3)
Yo, I see you followers are one in the same
And insult what they can’t do as if there’s something to gain
You suckers are lame, couldn’t last on this rugged terrain
Of suffering, pain, the struggle to discover your lane
So I walk with a pivot like I’m armed to the T
Rockin’ a hoody, army fatigued but I’m hardly fatigued
My artistry bleeds, through the temples of God’s church
Sociopath rappers cross dressing like Bob Durst
Mixing flow with skills while you’re sniffin’ coke and pills
Booze and overkill, homie you are not the dopest, Chiillll!
The rhymin’ onslaughter, the last of the vinyl authors
The passionate Martyr giving it all I got to offer
From the moment awake I’m racing the clock
Whether late or I’m not, tryna seize the day on the spot
After blazin’ the pot, write a verse worthy to jot
To rehearse for my block, This is that Suburbian Bop
Longtime Style P collaborator Fortes serves up instrumental versions of eight of his productions for the New York rapper. Bandcamp New & Notable Jun 22, 2020
