Soundman

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