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 s**t 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 s**t 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?