Lyrics:

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…