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. (Break). 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 (rewind). Drop the bomb. (Break). 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 repitition on the mic. Still dissing all the hype. From left to right. How many left to fight?.