| It’s like a holocaust to the boss when I toss
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| Too much knowledge kicked then you’re lost
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| In a shuffle of feet, Jinx the fiddler
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| And I control your mind like Hitler
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| You bow and vow to authority
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| See now, a sucker with a style just boring me
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| So I show K N O W L E D G E, it might trouble you
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| Then I transform like a decepticon
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| With a mic as a bomb
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| I’m solo, you ask how I’m living
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| Still dropping more shit than a pigeon
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| With the L, the E, the N, the C, the H
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| The M, the O, the B, the great
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| Lyrics that make the beat swing and I gotcha
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| It’s the hip hopper that don’t like coppers
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| And if you try to upset the pot sun
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| You get kicked in the chest like a shotgun
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| I make the beats, I make the breaks
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| I make the rhymes that make you shake
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| Make you find, Ice Cube never caught in the middle
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| I make shit to kick you in the ass a little
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| And still never hesitate to stutter step
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| Or bust a repetition on the mic
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| Still dissing all the hype from left to right
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| How many left to fight?
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| So what that Lench Mob like? |