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 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 repetition on the mic      Still dissing all the hype   From left to right   How many left to fight?   So what that Lench Mob like?