La Schmoove

[Hook] La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove [Verse 1: Poc Fu] Yo, when I was small they used to tease me Because my hair was peasy, hard and greasy But now I'm living well like George and Wheezy So easy (WHAT) does it (YO) Is it because I'm rocking - beats, beats, beats Fu-Manchu'n cause I'm doing what just had to be done Now we in there like swimwear, girls calling me hon Give me hugs, little peck, mucho tongue, lots of sex Nuff respects to my bros that live on five-six street (RIGHT) I'm smashing monster mashing boom bashing in a fashion Which is wild now I smile when I whip-lash MCs with my style Call me cuckoo, I'm making beaucoup bucks I'm geared and fully prepared to tear all MCs that are schmuks For bros who sleep and cavity creep and listen when I talk As I soothe in the groove, 'cause I'm smooth like Mr. Rourke Doobely-zoo Mr. Wu, no need to be rude but F.U 'Cause I ain't got nothing to prove [Hook] La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove [Verse 2: Chip Fu] Leave it to Beaver'-arriva, derci Heavens to mercy ba FU sayanora Adios muchachos dorme vous unbuckle my Fu-Schnick shoe Mr. Chip Fu, about to wreck shop With the Judo (CHOP) a Judo (CHOP) a Judo chop (CHOP) Yo zilch kaput me nada none son I don't think so, so take a look at A Superfly big Jimmy the Honeynut Cheerio Bee Ba schnicker bah snchnucker I ams what I ams that's all what I ams My lyrics are never done I'm the big John Elmer Glue the Elmer the Fudd Al Bundy the Bud Light stud Come like tongues lashes, with the quickness Moc and Poc is, my witness Ask the Kung about my tongue and the styles that I brung instead I'm the Ali Babi cutty rankin shuba-dib-da-dabble Jaw Boy Wonder Bread dread, BUM BA READ These lyrics ah-come out of mi head, BUM BA READ Mr. Chip Fu's gon stay' di-di, da-di-di, dra-dread You said I couldn't rap, but I really wrecked shop And I don't stop drop, I get props I pick up the mic drop a style and pattern and fashion And all MCs jaws drops down My accent, you're mocking my clothes, you're clocking Ripping MCs to smithereens to their Ribbidy-diddiby-Pippi Longstockings So don't step to Chip, I'm on the La Schmoove tip You'll say Drats I really failed again plus he sank my Babble-ship So oooh, shit G, wa-wa or biscuit Rip it and be specific doin' it terrific when I kicks it Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang, Pepé Le Pew, Pepé Le Pew La Schmoove, yo I ain't got nothing to prove [Hook] La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove [Verse 3: Phife Dawg] Now here I go, once again with the ill flow Other MCs that rap, their style is so-so Phife Dawg was never the type that ever lacked skills I just stay true to my roots and then I get ill Twenty years of age but yet I still seek (KNOWLEDGE) And this year, was so-called, my Senior year in (COLLEGE) But I chose to pursue, in a field called music And with some hype beats and breaks you know I won't refuse it Get on the board lay down the track and I'll do ten laps Pass the pen, pass the pad, and I'll kick nuff (RAPS) Just come inside your jam and witness who is boss And it won't be Tony Danza nor Diana Ross As small as I am, I still can pack jams Do a freestyle and step, but yet I still slam Not trying to say that no one can get with me Not only is it the lyrics I write, it's my delivery Name one rapper that you know who has this high-strung voice My name's Malik and I'm unique, in other words top choice Nothing commercial 'bout this, it's mainly hardcore Now that you got what you want, do you want more Because I got more in store [Hook] La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove [Verse 4: Moc Fu] M-O-C, the Shining One, a.k.a. The Golden Child I have a grin at times but then throw up a fake smile Vaseline Intensive Care, don't fear mon frere Sak Pase, everybody, the rappin' Jean Paul is here Back in the groove, it's no way you can handle this Shit so fly, that you can call it scandalous 'Cause I manifest in, words that I'm preaching Unleashing you now seek the sounds that I'm teaching I hear (NOT) see (NOT), knots to makes butts (ROCK) I rides rhythm to the beginnin, then won't stop The Chinese Son of Sam, the Skipper's Peter Pan The rootinest tootinest cowboy in the East Releasing a new type of lyrical lingo Single, "The Alarm", the girls cooties I will tingle No expiration date, so you know I won't (EXPIRE) No skippin a weekly check, so I don't have to (RETIRE) Write, the capital, M.O Chip Fu with the Kung-Fu givin' shouts on my show Ir-regular styles is here too Tripped, boo-boo, you first made a mistake Not Alexander but considered to be Great Great, but, like the Grape Ape Fake, the moves and your ankles I will break Break or broken, the M.O. has spoken Movements on the slick, taking the train you need a token I guess not 'cause you pause for the cause You either biting your nails or start picking straws Holy Mick I'm living large just like trunk jewels Nuff respects to many minds, Ah-OWWWWEE [Hook] La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove La Schmoove, yo we don't got nothing to prove