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Song title: Hopsin - Who's There

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I know how long you've waited (Waited for what?)
For the day all these games end
Knock-knock, who's there? H (H who?)
Knock-knock, who's there? O-P
Knock-knock, who's there? H (H who?)
Knock-knock, who's there? O-P

A bunch of savages, Hop'll slice the head off a faggot
I wake up in the morning and go raid the medicine cabinet
Every word I spit is murder on the page of this tablet
I spit out a fucking bullet from this gauge at your fabric
I'm not your average Joe, brain battered and slow
A lot of pain, things changed, now I'm stacking this dope
Exclusive new shit, me and Hopsin we too sick
I crack a hater upside his fucking head with a pool stick
Murdering me is like Hop signing to Ruthless
For a second time and then pigs flying on broomsticks
Michael Jackson crawling out of his grave with two kids
Bitches squirting [?] out of they two tits
Fuck a metaphor, basically nigga you ain't doing it
Hand you a mirror before I murk you, check out the view of this
I'm losing it, serial killer lurking the music biz
Without a mask, I want you bitches to know who the fuck it is
Suffering succotash, rims on a hovercraft
Romantic psychopath, I drown whores in a bubble bath
It's Mr. Benton nigga, y'all fall back
And lick the crease between my asshole and ballsack