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Uh,it's hard catchin' these old rhymes I cant' remember these old rhymes It's hard catchin' these old rhymes
[Kalage] Shit we comin' after the whack rappers Studio gat-clappers slash jackers Them braggin' back-stabbin' non-rappin' autographers And I'm backed up like brake lights don't beep me That's some shit you ain't gon' see like a punch in a snake fight Or a preacher that play dice It's another level bitch And I'm sick of rappers braggin' bout they diamond bezelled wrists My ice this, my ice that I bet I'll melt yo shit Cause Shawn J come hotter than the Devil's dick Couldn't beat me if I was yo dick We were in the movies Watchin' porn flicks in 3D And you were PeeWee I don't blow shit out of proportion I'll stuff you in yo mama's stomach Rap her then make her have an abortion The Vince Carter of rap, Shawn tall and brown skinned Dunkin' dick in yo bitch with my arm in the rim Keep yo hoe I chase dough Burnin' rappers till sun-up And jackin' off layin' on my back tryin' to come up To get grip Shawn slick with bricks for chips I flip one-fifth of a brick Nicks go for 6 Tug a four-fifth with more glits than 6 twists I don't sniff but I spit Catch a whiff nit-wit Slick 6 style switch Like a whip stick shift I stole rap like the grinch stole Christmas My clique pissed tryin' to hit licks to get grip Tryin' to make more bread than Bisquick Biscuits This misfit pissed cause I hit his chick He mad cause I'm Indiana like Rik Smits But he don't know I'm underground like the Ninja Turtle He wanna fight but he type that couldn't injure Urkel I play the cut though Mr. Nice guy slash cut throat Spit doo-doo like you butt blow UH-OHHHH y'all best to get runnnin' Why? Shhh! I hear Field Mob comin'
[Hook] Can't stop us Can't stop the Mob Can't stop Boondox Can't stop Kalage [Repeat 11x's]
[Boondox Blax] Uh, it's you boy Boondox aka Smoke from the Mob That charcoal color lyrical criminal spittin' flows from yo ? I break bricks down in yo hood and take over yo block Whatever you want I got it from the South Coast to the Rocks Open up shop totin' a glock with a scope on the top Two clips in each ankle tucked low in my sock Like lil' whodi Wayne - I'll have yo block scorchin' hot You need oven gloves to get yo mail out of yo box To you rappers thinkin' you gonna come control my block Check yo face you see a infrared now way it's not Close to yo eye and in yo ears and all up in yo teeth too So many red dots look like you sick with the measles My clique hold heat too But I roll with more people Macks like Rudy Ray Moore, Goldie and Seigel Like Bebe we don't die we multiply like wet gremlins Jack Martin girl It's best you hide the baguettes listen We the best spittin' gold rhymes Lyrics stickin' to yo brain as if yo pillow was porcupine Not only yo mind I poke yo tummy like Doughboy Makin' ya bummy Droppin' lyrical bows to yo stomach Smokey done it in two years and 4 weeks I ain't lying If Jigga Jordan You can call me the Kobe Bryant of this rap shit So go get more practice I skipped college and high school - I ain't even pass it Barely made it past the 10th grade You been writin' for 20 years And still writin' and I been in this shit getting' paid Spittin' raid at you cockroaches It makes you move out the way if you did not notice Here come the Mob
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