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 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, drop the bomb I'm solo, you ask how I'm living

Still dropping more *** 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 *** to kick you in the ass a little

And still never hesitate to stutter step

Or bust a repetition on the mic Still dissing all the hype

From left to right

How many left to fight?

So what that Lench Mob like?