A stress ball is a malleable toy, usually not more than 7 cm in diameter. It is squeezed in the hand and manipulated by the fingers, ostensibly to either help relieve stress and muscle tension or to exercise the muscles of the hand.
There are many different types of stress balls. Some are made from closed-cell polyurethane foam rubber. This type of stress ball is made by injecting the liquid components of the foam into a mold. The resulting chemical reaction creates carbon dioxide bubbles as a byproduct, which in turn creates the foam.
Stress balls, especially those used in physical therapy, can also contain gel of different densities inside a rubber or cloth skin. Another type uses a thin rubber membrane surrounding a fine powder. The latter type can be made at home by filling a balloon with baking soda. Some balls similar to a footbag are marketed and used as stress balls.
Despite the name, many stress balls are not spherical. Many stress toys are molded in amusing shapes and pad or transfer printed with corporate logos. They are presented to employees and clients as promotional gifts. Stress balls are the third most popular promotional gift in the UK. Stress toys are a staple of cubicles where repetitive stress injuries such as carpal tunnel syndrome are common. Because of the many shapes now available, stress balls are generically known as stress relievers.
KICK ASS!
First Family!
[Chorus: M.O.P.]
Don't let these motherfuckers stress y'all
M.O.P. to the death y'all, the good Lord have blessed y'all
So these niggaz can't touch y'all
FIRING SQUAD! Yes yes y'all
[Verse One: Billy Danze]
Good evening, you contaminated semen
I'm here for a different reason (continue breathin)
I notice you been schemin, on the First Family
(Family) Disbelieving we're
(forever rockin) yeah (forever hip-hopping and popping)
Yes yes y'all!
I'm not a rapper, I never made a rap song
You motherfuckers got it all wrong!
I'm a man standin behind a cannon, plannin to pop ya
We got on yo' click like I'm with Trenchcoat Mafia
I'm not afraid of you bitches, I raise hell
And get respect when niggaz, struggle for riches
As the wind blow, through my window, real slow at night
It shakes me in fright, it's well after twelve
but I still see a bright light (take 'em back to crime time)
Oh you, motherfuckin right, cousin
I see them fake thugs, givin up fake dap and fake hugs
We appreciate the fake love
Keep in mind I'm determined to shine like my son
Industry enemy number one, yes yes y'all!
[Chorus x2]
[Verse Two: Lil' Fame]
I'm bout to start this bitch from Ground Zero (oh!)
When I start cussin and bustin, niggaz call pound zero
I'm not just a rap AR-tist
I'm also a gat pack artist (oh!) gat clap artist (oh!)
And a condor, killer, set trap artist (oh!)
Send forty-pound slugs through your back artist
(Now that's an artist!) I leave 'em left out
with his flesh out, layin stretched out, sketched out
(No doubt!) I still do the same thing
Streey life is still a Fame game
What you thought the game changed?
I hang out and break day until the street lights go off
Or the heat pipe go off (BOOM!)
It's what we pack on the Hilltop, (true!)
What's the sound when the steel pop? (BOOM!)
Bitch! I will dismiss you
You got issues, deal witcho issues
I look 'em dead in the face, pop one in 'em
and knock the venom out a motherfuckin snake
I'm a thoroughfy his death y'all, and creep back through
And if he's stretched I'm like yes yes y'all