The Bomb

It's like a holocaust to the boss when I toss

Too much knowledge kicked in, you lost

In a shuffle of feet, Jinx the fiddler

And I control your mind like Hitler

You bow and bow to authority

See now, sucker with a style just bore me

So I show a 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 the 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 we 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 fall off your feet

You're turning red, it's said that your head burst

And this is only the first verse

Of the bomb

Stop, abort, Cube been flinging this gangster, homie

Yo, got my Lench Mob hat tilt to the back

And strapped with a gat and I'm ready to cap

Hey yo, Cube, watch out motherf-

Don't break up the fight, let'em 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, it's a fashion

I love black women with a passion

But when they gotta go and show their ass end

I gotta clown the hoes, yeah (Yeah!)

You gotta watch the ones with the big derrieres

They'll steer you wrong

Ice Cube's got it going on (More bounce)

Hit me for the gangster boogie, and two times for the gangster rhymes

The system ain't wholesome

They want to put a young brother in Folsom

They'd rather see me on lockdown

But I come up foul then they get knocked out, word

To the brother that rolls the herb

Everybody else 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!

Hey, lemme tell you something 'bout the Lynch Mob, homie

We do our motherfucking job

And we on the tip of getting crazy paid

So I wanna give another shout out to my boy, I-C-E

Let 'em battle with the 12 inch

I'm solo, you ask how I'm living

Still dropping more shit than a pigeon

I told y'all, here they come now

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 stuff to kick you in the ass a little

And still never hesitate to stutter step

Or bust a reputation on the mic, still dissing all the hype

From left to right, how many left to fight?

So what that Lynch Mob like?