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Текст песни ICE CUBE - The Bomb

ICE CUBE - The Bomb слова песни



Текст песни ICE CUBE - The Bomb




It's like a holocaust to the boss when i tossToo much knowledge kicked then you're lostIn a shuffle of feet, jinx the fiddlerAnd i control your mind like hitlerYou bow and vow to authoritySee now, a sucker with a style just boring meSo i show k.n.o.w.( )L.e.d.g.e. it might trouble youThen i transform like a decepticonWith a mic as a bombIn my right palmBut i don't stay calmSo panicOthers can't flow so they go schizophrenicYou thought i dropped a dud in your faceUntil you taste the blood of the bassThen you faint, or better yet pass outWhen i'm on the mic, believe it's ass outYou think you're raw so you drawYou lose, you're hung, you bite your tongueThe whole town saw in awe as you strangleA noose on your neck, and you dangleFrom side to side in the blazing heatYou're beat, you're dead, the fools fell offYou feel you're turning red, it's saidThat your head burstAnd this is only the first verseOf the bomb(break)Don't break up the fight let them rumbleOver the years i've watched some go super-bad quickNow the smell of the pen has got them sick to the stomachNow ask yourself, who's stupid?I take funky funky beats and i loop itAnd pimp slap you in the face with the bassAnd the boom from the bomb that i dropStopYou have a flat top as a fashionI love black women with a passionBut when they gotta go and show their ass inI gotta clown the hoes, yeahYou gotta watch the ones with the big derrieresThey'll steer you wrongIce cube's got it going on, hit meFor the gangster boogie two times for the gangster rhymeThe system ain't wholesomeThey want to put a young brother in folsomAnd others see me on lockdownBut i come up foul then they get knocked out, wordTo the brother that rolls the herbEverybody getting knocked to the curb like thatJinx got the gat, and it's a factHe'll kick a funky beat to peel your capNow who's the mack?Who's the hoe?Who's the trick?I got many, many styles won't you take a pickBut don't be alarmedWhen i trip and stumble and fumbleAnd drop the (rewind)Drop the bomb(break)I'm solo, you ask how i'm livingStill dropping more shit than a pigeonWith the l, the e, the n, the c, the h,The m, the o, the b, the greatLyrics that make the beat swing and i gotchaIt's the hip-hopper that don't like coppersAnd if you try to upset the pot sonYou get kicked in the chest like a shotgunI make the beats, i make the breaksI make the rhymes that make you shakeMake you findIce cube never caught in the middleI make shit to kick you in the ass a littleAnd still never hesitate to stutter stepOr bust a repitition on the micStill dissing all the hypeFrom left to rightHow many left to fight?So what that lench mob like?




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