Can It (Remix)

[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)