Uh,it's hard catchin' these old rhymes
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I cant' remember these old rhymes
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It's hard catchin' these old rhymes
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|
[Kalage]
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Shit we comin' after the whack rappers
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Studio gat-clappers slash jackers
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Them braggin' back-stabbin' non-rappin' autographers
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And I'm backed up like brake lights don't beep me
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That's some shit you ain't gon' see like a punch in a snake fight
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Or a preacher that play dice
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It's another level bitch
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And I'm sick of rappers braggin' bout they diamond bezelled wrists
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My ice this, my ice that
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I bet I'll melt yo shit
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Cause Shawn J come hotter than the Devil's dick
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Couldn't beat me if I was yo dick
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We were in the movies
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Watchin' porn flicks in 3D
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And you were PeeWee
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I don't blow shit out of proportion
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I'll stuff you in yo mama's stomach
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Rap her then make her have an abortion
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The Vince Carter of rap, Shawn tall and brown skinned
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Dunkin' dick in yo bitch with my arm in the rim
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Keep yo hoe I chase dough
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Burnin' rappers till sun-up
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And jackin' off layin' on my back tryin' to come up
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To get grip
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Shawn slick with bricks for chips
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I flip one-fifth of a brick
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Nicks go for 6
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Tug a four-fifth with more glits than 6 twists
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I don't sniff but I spit
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Catch a whiff nit-wit
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Slick 6 style switch
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Like a whip stick shift
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I stole rap like the grinch stole Christmas
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My clique pissed tryin' to hit licks to get grip
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Tryin' to make more bread than Bisquick Biscuits
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This misfit pissed cause I hit his chick
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He mad cause I'm Indiana like Rik Smits
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But he don't know I'm underground like the Ninja Turtle
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He wanna fight but he type that couldn't injure Urkel
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I play the cut though
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Mr. Nice guy slash cut throat
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Spit doo-doo like you butt blow
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UH-OHHHH y'all best to get runnnin'
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Why? Shhh! I hear Field Mob comin'
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|
[Hook]
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Can't stop us
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Can't stop the Mob
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Can't stop Boondox
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Can't stop Kalage
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[Repeat 11x's]
|
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[Boondox Blax]
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Uh, it's you boy Boondox aka Smoke from the Mob
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That charcoal color lyrical criminal spittin' flows from yo ?
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I break bricks down in yo hood and take over yo block
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Whatever you want I got it from the South Coast to the Rocks
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Open up shop totin' a glock with a scope on the top
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Two clips in each ankle tucked low in my sock
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Like lil' whodi Wayne - I'll have yo block scorchin' hot
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You need oven gloves to get yo mail out of yo box
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To you rappers thinkin' you gonna come control my block
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Check yo face you see a infrared now way it's not
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Close to yo eye and in yo ears and all up in yo teeth too
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So many red dots look like you sick with the measles
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My clique hold heat too
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But I roll with more people
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Macks like Rudy Ray Moore, Goldie and Seigel
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Like Bebe we don't die we multiply like wet gremlins
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Jack Martin girl
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It's best you hide the baguettes listen
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We the best spittin' gold rhymes
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Lyrics stickin' to yo brain as if yo pillow was porcupine
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Not only yo mind
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I poke yo tummy like Doughboy
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Makin' ya bummy
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Droppin' lyrical bows to yo stomach
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Smokey done it in two years and 4 weeks
|
I ain't lying
|
If Jigga Jordan
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You can call me the Kobe Bryant of this rap shit
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So go get more practice
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I skipped college and high school - I ain't even pass it
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Barely made it past the 10th grade
|
You been writin' for 20 years
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And still writin' and I been in this shit getting' paid
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Spittin' raid at you cockroaches
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It makes you move out the way if you did not notice
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Here come the Mob
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|
[Hook]
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|
-----------------
|
Can't Stop Us
|
| Field Mob |
