(NFA) No Frontin Allowed LL COOL J (Ft. Lords of the Underground)

Mad madness
Trashy
Brother from way back
We're blowin mics since the days of 8-track
Certified
Bonified
Pull out the weapon
Rusted
Your ho's gets busted
Run your jewels!
Shootin up ya damn fools
Leavin' your loser lazy lyricist
In bloody pools
Went away
Came back
Your still wack
Now your slobbin Marly's mob
For a dope track
Comin off like a bra
And its the witness
No click-click
A fru (?) business
Don't care about no money
Got props in it
Flippin scripts
With every letter in the alphabet
Wanna jump. JUMP!
And jingle your rump. RUMP!
Here to pump punks
With real hot lead chunks
Full-grown
I ain't no baby with these rhymes kid
Put the mic down
My peoples know where ya live
I chop you little brittle riddle
Right up the middle
And have the police playin the fiddle
In the hospital
Somebody said, "He couldn't rip with the roughness."
Rhymes kick your teeth
But end up frontless
Soul survivor of a thousand beats
Sendin funeral wreathes
To all ya use-to-be chiefs
Is a raw
To a bearlin in the woods (?)
Brothers tapes ain't jack
Their best tracks is wack
I heard you think you got a chance to win
But my Glock is stopped off
To murder the top ten
Rough and rugged and raw
I'm like a callous
The underground can say
"ain't no Fra-zontin in my palace."