Scram Jones

Scram…Scram Jones

Scram…Scram…Scrams…Scram Jones

[Verse 1]

Here’s a few things that you need to understand

All you tenderonis grab a hold of your man

‘Cause when I’m in the place, if your girl’s in my face

She may get scooped, dip through without a trace

My name is Q-Tip, phony niggas pay god

My voice kinda smooth and my knuckle game hard

I’m from Jamaica Queens and we prone to raise kings

And raise a little thing while we slang them things

You sucka ass nigga, I’ma call you Scram Jones

I’m gonna be a star when I rock the microphone

I always pack ‘em in when my name is on the flyer

A ten dollar fee, must have fly attire

Your colors don’t match and your chain looks fake

So when you’re at the door, they won’t give you a break

They’re gonna, turn you around, and when you on the train

You ejected, disrespected, weird shit in the game

Meanwhile, at the jam, my legend just grows

My rhyme is in the highs, the kicks is in the lows

You do the Patty Duke like you just don’t care

You’s a jazzy young lady with your pigtail hair

I’m in my own right like a Shakespeare play

Focus on the mic, gon’ have my say

Taking niggas out, again and again

So well I’ll take your lady and greet with a pen

Now if I told you once, I’ma tell you one more

Girls, girls, girls, get your body on the floor

You just a Scram Jones, and I’m the real deal

I keeps it upright with a ghetto ass feel

Maim inside your mind with the rhyme well defined

I got a bag of money so I guess you got the time

But don’t be confused ‘cause I ain’t no trick

I’m the baddest muh’fucka poppin’ mucho shit

This rappin’ exhibition is the end of your existence

And you’s a Scram Jones, I think you need to listen

I’m going all city like the homeboys say

You ask “Can I kick it?”, well, I do it this way

Now I’m a real player ‘cause I don’t keep score

Me and Dr. J say “What the fuck for?”

When time runs out, man, your team can’t lose

And if you gon’ lose, then you’re singing the blues

For me it’s not an option ‘cause I’m gon’ keep rockin’

B-boys b-boyin’, the poppers keep poppin’

I hops the turnstile, I got a wild style

Police on my tail gonna be there for a while

Scram…Scram Jones…Scram…

[Verse 2]

Now my people in the East hold it down to say the least

My people from the West, you do the thing best

People down South always turns it out

And my people up North always sets it off

I got she in a gui like Sonny Cheeba

I keeps a girl hot like a yellow fever

A GQ brotha always playing the low

But I’m also known as Incognito

So the people out there, put your hands in the air

The hands in the air, let me know you’re out there…