[Intro: UnderRated]

Potluck!

This is the hip-hop police!

You are wanted for rapping about marijuana and not sticking to the elements!

Put down your microphones and come out with your hands up!

[Chorus: 1-Ton & Ishi Dube]

(Put ya hands up!) They wanna put me in a box

With a label on top and tell me that I ain't hip-hop

(Hands up!) They gon' try and take my sound

And shut it down, every time I step outta bounce

(Put ya hands up!) They wanna put me in a box

With a label on top and tell me that I ain't hip-hop

(Hands up!) They gon' try and take my sound

And shut it down, every time I step outta bounce

[Verse 1: 1-Ton]

Rock every state, every town, every block (Uh-huh?)

We've been to every club in every hood collectin' props (Everywhere!)

And when we in the city, best believe we make it pop (Hey, whaddup!)

We get a map of the country, play connect the dots (Aha)

'Cause everythang ain't always what 'chu think it is (C'mon, man)

Fuckin' hip-hop police straight ridiculous (So long!)

They're so scared if change (What?), want us to sound the same (No way!)

But me I keep it fresh, so, you best get on the train

We're goin' non-stop, rollin' to the beat drop ([?])

We take a divebar, turn it to a hot spot (Haha!)

I'm a little different, but that should be okay (Oh yeah!)

Think outside of boxes say what I wanna say

[Verse 2: UnderRated & Too $hort]

The mainstream says we're too underground

The underground says we're too mainstream, man, we get the run around

So, we just two us, no matter what the scene (Yeah!)

Potluck took a show and the crowd goes nuts (Woo!)

Rush to the front of the stage to get a better view (Go! Go! Go! Go!)

Catch DJ Wicked rippin' up the ones and twos

But we're still not real hip-hop

Must be 'cause we talk about smoking pot

But Humboldt's where I'm from and I'm never gon' Swiss

That's like tellin' Too $hort to stop sayin' the word "Bitch!"

Blood sweat and tears, twelve years in the game

Still they gimme no respect, so, they say

[Chorus: 1-Ton Ishi Dube & UnderRated]

(Put ya hands up!) They wanna put me in a box

With a label on top and tell me that I ain't hip-hop

(Hands up!) They gon' try and take my sound

And shut it down, every time I step outta bounce

(Put ya hands up!) Murs! You've been spotted at Juggalo shows everywhere!

(Hands up!) You're not real hip-hop! Put down your microphone and come out with your hands up!

[Verse 3: Murs]

They say "Murs is a Juggalo"

Damn right and every chance I get, you can catch me at the fuckin' show

In the pit throwin' that sticky shit

I got mad clown love for that wicked shit (Whoop-whoop!)

What? I'm supposed to front to protect my street cred?

So, I can get love from the jocks and the meatheads

Fuck outta here with that bullshit

I'ma always be a nerd, man, fuck the cool kids!

I grew up on comic books and G-Funk

Y'all doin' what 'chu can, we doin' what we want

Murs and Potluck, I know when they all struck

The live show got the whole world on our nuts

So, why would I care? What the fuck 'chu think?

I got dreads of Faygo, yeah, they fuckin' stink

At Cave-In-Rock, I'm gonna act the fool

Now, where should I put this hatchet tags on? (Whoop-whoop!)

[Chorus: 1-Ton Ishi Dube & UnderRated]

(Put ya hands up!) They wanna put me in a box

With a label on top and tell me that I ain't hip-hop

(Hands up!) They gon' try and take my sound

And shut it down, every time I step outta bounce

(Put ya hands up!) Mistah F.A.B.! How can you be hyphy and lyrical at the same time?!

(Hands up!) You're not real hip-hop! Put down your microphone and come out with your hands up!

[Verse 4: Mistah F.A.B.]

They say that I'm not hip-hop because I flip-flop

And I did Ghost Rider and they say that it's pop (Uh)

And I'm not a street block 'cause I don't spit rocks (Yeah)

And I don't hit pot and I don't zip Scott (I'm sorry?)

They say I'm not a B-Boy 'cause I don't breakdance (Yeah)

But come to my shows and I have great fans

Your show's straight cans, it's only like eight hands (Hahahaha!)

You do freak shows where I made eight grand (Huh?)

And I wonder wonder why you hate me?

'Cause I do everything that you can't, man (I'm sorry)

And lyrically you're fearin' me considerably, fact: that I can rap

Any style any track and I bought my state back (Yeah)

Did a tour with Snoop Dogg, still rappin' for backpack

Rap, cats and DJs to scratch tracks

Not Strato, strictly off the record

I guess that's why you critics don't respect it

[Chorus: 1-Ton & Ishi Dube]

(Put ya hands up!) They wanna put me in a box

With a label on top and tell me that I ain't hip-hop

(Hands up!) They gon' try and take my sound

And shut it down, every time I step outta bounce

(Put ya hands up!) They wanna put me in a box

With a label on top and tell me that I ain't hip-hop

(Hands up!) They gon' try and take my sound

And shut it down, every time I step outta bounce

(Put ya hands up!)