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(Pharoahe Monch) |
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Yes yes yes yes yes |
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Yo Mr. Soundman! We would very much appreciate it |
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(yes indeed) if you add a tad bit more mids |
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And a little more lows to the mic (word up) |
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I'm on mic number one, Prince is on mic number two (yes yes yes) |
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A little bit more but RIGHT RIGHT RIGHT THERE, yeah |
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One more, c'mon, uhh (recognize) |
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C'mon, right yes, yes, right here, uhh, c'mon, down |
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Sorta similar to the way I remember to be the wordsmith |
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Pharoahe, God's gift to vocabulary |
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My personal soliloquies be killin me softly |
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Still I be packin artillery, y'all feelin me yet? |
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Props don't stop HERE nigga |
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I knock MC's out of a six-sided figure |
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My strategies be tragedy to MC's |
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Who receive certificates from rap academies |
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I'm terrific with wordplay (wordplay..) |
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Specific with verbs, say we step it up, to the next level |
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See if I represent God.. |
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.. then all my competition is exclusively Lucifer |
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See y'all used to the niggaz who would say Devil right? (right) |
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But I ain't them (nah) they ain't me (uh-huh) |
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With some bullshit college-ass rappin degree |
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But let me show you how we do it, duh duh duh |
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Done with the disco fluid, duh duh |
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But if it ain't LOUD enough |
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We tell the soundman turn that shit up up up! |
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C'mon, c'mon |
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(Prince Poetry) |
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Yo Pharoahe, hold up hold up, check it |
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Let me introduce myself |
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I'm Senor El Chocolate, creme de la creme, a la cheddy |
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Prince Poe, God's gift to vo, cabulary |
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Very visual, every lyrical slide |
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Is spiritually projected, forever inside |
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Never to hide but to shine like, diamonds inside mines |
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Let that ass marinate and Poe free flows over basslines |
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I'm, takin elevatin to next |
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Plateaus rippin shows with this cosmic sex |
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Love on CD's and cassettes and DAT's (now all rise) |
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Now who masters the Funk, when it's time to Flex? (Organized!) |
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From the Southside, spar chump MC's |
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Thinkin they comp, but soon to get smoked like trees |
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I eat MC's of ALL kinds, spit out the rhyme |
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Regurgitate their mindstate, cause I don't eat swine |
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Set it straight, online, internet programmed to climb |
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You might catch me in The Grind straight bumpin a dime |
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Now let me tell you how we do it (yeah yeah) |
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With that old disco fluid (uh-huh!) |
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And if it ain't LOUD enough |
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Tell the soundman to turn that shit up (up) up (up) up, UP! |
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(Pharoahe Monch) |
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If it.. uh... check it |
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(Turn me up now.. oohhhhhh ohhh yeah |
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Ooooooh-ooooooooh-ooooh-ohh-oooh-ooooh) |
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(Prince Poetry) |
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Tinted V8, buck and a half on the dash |
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All weather Pirellis, the exterior color is cash |
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Black Italian leather, Nakamichi system to blast |
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Full metal to the pedal when we Organize on that ass |
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I last, amongst the mass, gettin the cash |
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But in the stash fast before the stock market crash |
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Splash, five quarts of straight water fortified |
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First place to get this partyin on |
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In any club or on the corner in the box with pops |
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In barbershops ladies got with it in hoopties some in drop-tops |
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Look at love-love, fuckin with this top-notch |
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Boombastic, ghetto dope now, fly gymnastics of passion |
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With verbal toxic, rock shit (daily) |
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(MMMmm) The soul controller up in the cockpit |
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Lock shit, with my robotic optic |
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You ain't fuckin with this prophet who's too tropic, stop it |
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(Heyyy, Mr. Soundman, can you boost me, juice me up?) |
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(Pharoahe Monch) |
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I'm sendin them in YO' face! Spinnin them quick wit |
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Synonym blendin them in wit, homynyms entered in |
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And by embalmin them wit, shit, whenever I spit |
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No need for me to go get old hit, records to go gold wit |
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Yo' shit with absolutely NO innovation whatsoever |
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You and all your mens not clever! |
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Y'all need to be TOLD that shit |
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You ain't bold black plans of promotional schemes and scams are so wack |
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Tracks are trash to me, nigga actually |
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Your platinum plaque should even go back to the factory |
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People wanna be like Michael and when |
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Recyclin when the fans wanna hear FRESH MATERIAL |
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From imperial rap pros who ORGANIZE |
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Gettin very intolerant at rap shows like lactose |
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In fact those niggaz that act up get smacked |
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Backwards for bein so anti-climac.. tic |
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Watch any mack get, put on his back with |
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Lyrical tactics utilized without practice |
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This is how we do it (YEAH YEAH) duh duh duh |
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Done with the disco fluid (UH-HUH) duh duh |
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But if it ain't LOUD enough |
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Say if it ain't LOUD enough |
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Say if it ain't LOUD enough |
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We tell the soundman turn that motherfuckin volume up! Nigga |