**While my brain is full of chronic, my mind is full of tension, my microphone progression is like out of this dimension. Bringing heat like Smith and Wesson on these California streets, my ghetto fine Latin grammar perfects these blunt beats. My whole crew is in here, all about smoking that burning that green, got more dope, than could be measured on a triple beam. Its obscene and quite a bit absurd, in the sound proof room straight blowing on that herb. I'm pin'point'n all my targets, proving who's the hardest, Jopo's that artist, fools drop like bargains. There aint no drug that will stimulate, or make you great, accept fate, rappin was ur mistake. That youngest tightest Latino fresh out that Golden State. Dropping tracks back to back in a ridiculous pace. My mind seems to turn in different ways I'm in a daze. Then I bust the type of shit the average rapper cant play. I just stay true skillz, my microphone gets killed, i'm an assassin to lyrics while bustin shit you can feel. I got that number one appeal, like the Los Angeles Lakers bringing heat to you fakers while smoking 'cross by the acres. I'm ending your chapter bringing disaster, you're a fake, a bitch, a poor excuse for a rapper. While I'm a master of words, spittin these nouns and verbs. ***Drag ur body 'round the curb, make ur ass bite the curb. And leave you there on display for all the world to observe.*** Cuz this is lyrical warfare, and I'm a true soldier, i wont stop until the fucking armaggedon is over. You need to stop look at the facts, analyze and realize, Jopo's the one and only lyrical assassin on the rise!
rapping isnt what i do so umm i guess dats coo your rap sounds like shizz doesnt really fizz lol imma stop now because i dont know how to rap swag