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



[Hook]