Come down and beware of the black fist
The guerillas straight mutherfucking killers in the mist
Take a shot buck buck but you can't hoist
Never thought you'd see niggers in the forest
Don't kick in the chorus just yet
Because we ain't made a mess yet
Lynch Mob produce the best shit
Coming real hard, man
Bumping in your car, man
Finally caught up with a devil named Tarzan
Swinging on a vine
Sucking on a piece of swine
Jiggaboo come up from behind
Hit him with a coconut
Stab him in his gut
Push him out the tree
He falls right on his nuts
And just like EPMD
I don't like a bitch
Named J to the A to the N-E
Can't wait to meet her
I'm gonna kill her
Because that little motherfucking cheetah can't hang with a guerilla
You try to pay me off with a banana
But JD is blacker than a city called Atlanta
Give me some elbow room, I need some elbow room
So I can boom shack-a-laka boom
That's the sound of the twenty gauge
Lock us up and the Lynch Mob can break out of any cage
You never even hear of this
I'm taking care of this
Lynch Mob environmental terrorists
Fuck great ape and Magilla
I'm a killer
Magilla gorilla ain't a killer
White boys like Godzilla
But my super nigger named King Kong
Played his ass like Ping-Pong
So motherfuckers get your ding-dong
Or the bozac (what's that?) dick and nut sack
So get your butts back from the black fist
Cap peelers, the guerillas in the mist
Va-voom, here comes a nigger from the dark side
Talking about a brand new apartheid
South Central, straight ghetto native
Gotta show these devil motherfuckers what I'm made of
Yes, never smoke the sess
Only hit the Gautama Buddha when I beat on my chest
I'm laying in a cut
I'm laying in a cut
I'm laying in a cut
About to shoot me a mutt (with what?)
With the boom ping ping
Listen to the ill shit that I bring bring
Nappy headed nigger, coming out the mist
The smog, the fog, Ice Cube is my motherfucking dog, yes
Kicking pumps, smoking humps
The guerillas, rolling from deep in the bumps
Short Dog got the motherfucking pump
And it's true T-Bone got the twenty-two
That's how it's done
So you better run yo run
Run your ass out the jungle
Because hear the guns go and we don't miss
The Lynch Mob, the guerillas in the mist
