| Song | Stress |
| Artist | Organized Konfusion |
| Album | Stress: The Extinction Agenda |
| Chorus：repeat 4x | |
| Crush, kill, destroy, stress | |
| Verse one：prince poetry | |
| Pain, stress | |
| My brain, can't even rest | |
| It's hard to maintain the pressure on my chest | |
| Excess frustration strikes! | |
| Blood rushes my head when i come across roads | |
| With dead mics and wack promoted shows it's hard | |
| But with the presence of god | |
| I'm true to the game | |
| So i'm back black, to take charge, and recap-ture | |
| The time, wish it could never be wack -- i'm pure | |
| I insert my lifeline into the track, the energy | |
| In me is a poison with no un-revealed remedy | |
| I'm spreading, like leprosy, throughout the record label | |
| Cause mines put me and monch's career in jeapordy | |
| Can you come see me in the ghetto where it's dark | |
| Bullets are real lost peeps lurks in the heart | |
| Lord knows it hurts, we kick the hertz to the curb | |
| Execute first things first, and put blunted minds to work | |
| My herd's tight and my fans supports | |
| So i'm a-ight, for the time being seeing peace | |
| But taking no shorts (no shorts) | |
| Chorus | |
| (album version includes a short "taxi cab" skit here) | |
| Verse two: pharoahe monch | |
| Rarrrrrgh! | |
| You will now consider me the apocalyptic one | |
| After this rhyme, henceforth, there is none | |
| No more will exist, when i emerge | |
| From the mist in whence i was born into, scorned | |
| Most of you can't even comprehend what i am saying | |
| To you even in my human form the message i'm relaying | |
| Why do you choose to mimic these wack mc's? | |
| Why do you choose to listen to r&b? | |
| Why must you believe somethin is fat | |
| Just because it's played on the radio, 20 times per day? | |
| My perception of poetical injection is ejactulation | |
| The immaculate conception | |
| The hall walker, who stalks bodies in central park | |
| Soon emergency services'll outline that body in chalk | |
| Then i begin to walk away and spit | |
| Then when i walk away i talk shit! | |
| Huh, a driver sprayed my face with mace | |
| She didn't know that i enjoyed the taste of radioactive waste | |
| When i'm in the backseat of your mid-town taxi | |
| Don't even ask me for the cash g | |
| The four cabs before didn't pick me up | |
| Now ask yourself who the fuck's gonna stick me up | |
| Chorus |
| Chorus: repeat 4x | |
| Crush, kill, destroy, stress | |
| Verse one: prince poetry | |
| Pain, stress | |
| My brain, can' t even rest | |
| It' s hard to maintain the pressure on my chest | |
| Excess frustration strikes! | |
| Blood rushes my head when i come across roads | |
| With dead mics and wack promoted shows it' s hard | |
| But with the presence of god | |
| I' m true to the game | |
| So i' m back black, to take charge, and recapture | |
| The time, wish it could never be wack i' m pure | |
| I insert my lifeline into the track, the energy | |
| In me is a poison with no unrevealed remedy | |
| I' m spreading, like leprosy, throughout the record label | |
| Cause mines put me and monch' s career in jeapordy | |
| Can you come see me in the ghetto where it' s dark | |
| Bullets are real lost peeps lurks in the heart | |
| Lord knows it hurts, we kick the hertz to the curb | |
| Execute first things first, and put blunted minds to work | |
| My herd' s tight and my fans supports | |
| So i' m aight, for the time being seeing peace | |
| But taking no shorts no shorts | |
| Chorus | |
| album version includes a short " taxi cab" skit here | |
| Verse two: pharoahe monch | |
| Rarrrrrgh! | |
| You will now consider me the apocalyptic one | |
| After this rhyme, henceforth, there is none | |
| No more will exist, when i emerge | |
| From the mist in whence i was born into, scorned | |
| Most of you can' t even comprehend what i am saying | |
| To you even in my human form the message i' m relaying | |
| Why do you choose to mimic these wack mc' s? | |
| Why do you choose to listen to r b? | |
| Why must you believe somethin is fat | |
| Just because it' s played on the radio, 20 times per day? | |
| My perception of poetical injection is ejactulation | |
| The immaculate conception | |
| The hall walker, who stalks bodies in central park | |
| Soon emergency services' ll outline that body in chalk | |
| Then i begin to walk away and spit | |
| Then when i walk away i talk shit! | |
| Huh, a driver sprayed my face with mace | |
| She didn' t know that i enjoyed the taste of radioactive waste | |
| When i' m in the backseat of your midtown taxi | |
| Don' t even ask me for the cash g | |
| The four cabs before didn' t pick me up | |
| Now ask yourself who the fuck' s gonna stick me up | |
| Chorus |