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It's like a holocaust to the boss when i toss |
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Too much knowledge kicked then you're lost |
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In a shuffle of feet, jinx the fiddler |
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And i control your mind like hitler |
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You bow and vow to authority |
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See now, a sucker with a style just boring me |
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So i show k.n.o.w. |
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L.e.d.g.e. it might trouble you |
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Then i transform like a decepticon |
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With a mic as a bomb |
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In my right palm |
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But i don't stay calm |
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So panic |
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Others can't flow so they go schizophrenic |
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You thought i dropped a dud in your face |
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Until you taste the blood of the bass |
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Then you faint, or better yet pass out |
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When i'm on the mic, believe it's ass out |
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You think you're raw so you draw |
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You lose, you're hung, you bite your tongue |
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The whole town saw in awe as you strangle |
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A noose on your neck, and you dangle |
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From side to side in the blazing heat |
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You're beat, you're dead, the fools fell off |
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You feel you're turning red, it's said |
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That your head burst |
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And this is only the first verse |
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Of the bomb |
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(break) |
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Don't break up the fight let them rumble |
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Over the years i've watched some go super-bad quick |
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Now the smell of the pen has got them sick to the stomach |
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Now ask yourself, who's stupid? |
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I take funky funky beats and i loop it |
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And pimp slap you in the face with the bass |
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And the boom from the bomb that i drop |
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Stop |
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You have a flat top as a fashion |
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I love black women with a passion |
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But when they gotta go and show their ass in |
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I gotta clown the hoes, yeah |
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You gotta watch the ones with the big derrieres |
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They'll steer you wrong |
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Ice cube's got it going on, hit me |
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For the gangster boogie two times for the gangster rhyme |
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The system ain't wholesome |
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They want to put a young brother in folsom |
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And others see me on lockdown |
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But i come up foul then they get knocked out, word |
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To the brother that rolls the herb |
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Everybody getting knocked to the curb like that |
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Jinx got the gat, and it's a fact |
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He'll kick a funky beat to peel your cap |
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Now who's the mack? |
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Who's the hoe? |
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Who's the trick? |
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I got many, many styles won't you take a pick |
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But don't be alarmed |
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When i trip and stumble and fumble |
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And drop the (rewind) |
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Drop the bomb |
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(break) |
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I'm solo, you ask how i'm living |
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Still dropping more shit than a pigeon |
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With the l, the e, the n, the c, the h, |
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The m, the o, the b, the great |
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Lyrics that make the beat swing and i gotcha |
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It's the hip-hopper that don't like coppers |
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And if you try to upset the pot son |
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You get kicked in the chest like a shotgun |
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I make the beats, i make the breaks |
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I make the rhymes that make you shake |
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Make you find |
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Ice cube never caught in the middle |
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I make shit to kick you in the ass a little |
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And still never hesitate to stutter step |
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Or bust a repitition on the mic |
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Still dissing all the hype |
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From left to right |
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How many left to fight? |
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So what that lench mob like? |
