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haters call out
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originally wrote for the XXL website. enjoy
el rippa jaccy jac tha ripper jac tha rippa
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Jac, Jaccy, Jac Tha Ripper, Jac Tha Rippa, Ripper, Rippa, El
Jac is the guy that fucks your daughters, makes them cry, and sniffs their panties. He's the guy that pee's on your dog when you're asleep when the son of a bitch won't stop barking. He drinks beer and liquor like there isn't such a thing as alcohol poisoning, and he smokes cigarettes like he could beat cancer by flexing for 2 minutes. We could ALL learn a thing or two from this warm, loving man.
Song Info
Genre
Hip-Hop • Battles/Disses
Charts
#1,530 in subgenre Peak #12
Charts
Peak #426
Author
JacThaRippa
Rights
Jactharippa 2008
Uploaded
May 27, 2008
Track Files
MP3
MP3 2.0 MB • 128 kbps • 2:14
Lyrics
[verse]:[1] so I'm a klansman... when did this happen? I'm greek n fuckin' spanish, you dumb bastids' you re-define the stereo-type of dumb rappers with music that sucks asses... like fecel fetish how in the fuck do you think you're impressive are you bi-polar and in need of your senses I could understand it, if you were actually beat senseless cause you're weak-n-pathetic, without tom from myspace you'd be feelin' neglected, he's you're only friend and even HE was hesitant, you're like a horror flick, but just music and if you think you're dope, it's obvious... you're fuckin' stupid which would explain why siki went on myspace beggin' for sex and a date and the last time this bitch queer felt the warmth from a lady I had shit-smeared in my diaper, cause I was just a baby and damien's hairline could be used as a shoe for horses that race, you're borin' and rape, the norm of the game, and sure that this lame'll record horrible verse that'll cause some ornery pain son, you're battlin' me, not the listener's ears I heard your tracks, why the fuck do you spit wierd you lack rhythm, and deliver somethin' funny like a midget and a dog that were caught fucking when your little crew decided to respond to a bomb I dropped, you were emotionless, bitches, soundin' damn calm "40 glocks, gonna' need 40 cops..." that's so original, faggot I'm not dissin' on blackness, I'm just rippin' your wackness and I'm offended you're rappers, get the fuck outa' my genre I gotta' call you out to a battle, it's obvious you don't wanna' and while I'm on the subject of dealin' with lames, hey look, it's richard simmon's little brother, I know you're both feelin' the same, in need of beef and a steak you fat fuck, me smoking and you walking... our breathin's the same and you're a gangster with 4 kids and a wife, and a daughter you tuck into bed every fuckin' night you're so fuckin' thuggish and rugged from the homies bomb-ass lovin', you nasty ass faggot I don't even know why I'm dissin', you aint blastin' back stay in arizona, with your homies and pole smokin' cause if you step a foot near me you'll end up like old diaper shit, fuckin' smeared, G
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