[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