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