| *behind vocals*
|
| D-E-L he rips microphones
|
| D-E-L he can’t leave it alone, can’t leave it alone
|
| He can’t leave it alone
|
| Ahh, D-E-L on the microphone, strike ya dome wit the hype poem
|
| Yeah, it’s the type of shit ya like to get, get wit it Ah, such a beautiful beat I’m 'bout to destroy
|
| For all weak MC’s ahh check it check it Back in your presence it’s the pres
|
| Dispensing these rhymes like Pez
|
| Full color, high res
|
| I digest is high biased, alotta MC’s ride my privates and I don’t like it
|
| I’m the master in innovation, that ain’t the? |
| reef?
|
| Well perhaps I’ll bring it center stage then so you can peep
|
| My rap style fail safe that derail fakes
|
| They just a pale-make of my own chromosomes
|
| I’m a critically-acclaimed maniac that attack tracks
|
| On wax or drum machines, for your underlings
|
| Plus I leave performers wit an ornery, ?quarterly's?
|
| That’ll turn your crew into disorderly’s
|
| Assorted freestyles I drop at my disposal
|
| Make you move your mojo and bounce like a pogos
|
| In the club, they grub on tortitos from Toyo’s
|
| A pitta and soda, and everything that’s owed us Everybody’s doughnuts rushin for cash
|
| Bustin ya ass, some losin just as fast
|
| I crash computers wit my viruses, fry your disk drive
|
| Wit wise words, suckas get on my nerves
|
| I’ma make you go Hmmm, wet you like H2O
|
| My flow refreshes, need lessons
|
| Well we open for business if you dig this
|
| To all the bigwigs and labels sellin you fables
|
| Hey you, you ain’t cuttin nothin, touchin my production
|
| Wit that pre-school rap, I say fuck them
|
| Hypnotizing, magnificent mind set
|
| Whenever I’m next, the shit you haven’t tried yet
|
| Live shit, magnetizing, peep what I’m advertising
|
| My alliance got your third eye cryin
|
| D-E-L he rips microphones, D-E-L he can’t leave it alone
|
| Can’t leave it alone, he can’t leave it alone
|
| Del, advancing dancing over beats
|
| Romancing microphones wit my glorious speech
|
| No shorts like BVD, I’m next like DVD
|
| I hit the metropolitan wit music I be modeling
|
| Showin off, goin off, wiggin
|
| Biggin up the town where I come up from, my humble beginnings
|
| The neo-narrator, creative care-taker
|
| I’m from the Five Flavors like Solar Flares on paper
|
| Don’t go fold things, let’s go smoke things
|
| Let dank or chocolate tai so we can all get high
|
| I touch any beat wit heat I pack
|
| Nigga, I frequent that
|
| In my never-ending quest see you scratch
|
| Speakin facts, we can rap
|
| Fuck scrappin and tappin, jaws I’m crackin
|
| Doors, open for brothers comin after me Fuck apathy, I ain’t got time to blame the world for my problems
|
| I’m a grown fuckin man and I understand
|
| Plus knowledge being gathered, each day make me Speak this way, so get it The way that I spit it, critics couldn’t never call me half-witted
|
| I’m the Riddick Bowe flowa for those in the know
|
| My logo represents thought-processing
|
| To keep em all guessin, wit these lyrical blessings
|
| Class is in session, class is in session
|
| You can achieve the hypnotic state
|
| By saying those things in your mind
|
| To yourself that is said to you on the recording
|
| And then give yourself thirty suggestions
|
| That will change your attitude towards crude
|
| Most MC’s have much to do wit nothing
|
| I attack bigger issues, something to take with you
|
| Time is just a measurement of life
|
| So why waste time on the false, waste time on the mic
|
| Waste time on the high personas, we’re on the
|
| Television tryin to get Del to listen
|
| To that garbage and gobbledy-good
|
| So I read a book, I prefer Manga wit Mega
|
| My repectable rhyme styles and textures
|
| Yes you’re gettin extra
|
| Flex your little style, I fluctuate
|
| Too much to take in one sitting
|
| And I stun citizens
|
| Describing shit that we livin in That don’t make a better sense
|
| I stick up kids who pick up bids
|
| And murderers deserving the same thing, I’m sick of this
|
| But meticulous wit metaphoric miracles of mind power
|
| Praying mantis techniques that wreck beats
|
| And pesky, prototypes that shouldn’t made it off the assembly line
|
| Much less to their distributors they’re miniature
|
| Mind states is immature and primative
|
| Talkin 'bout all the crack they cookin up, in the crib
|
| But you don’t shock me, I see these things
|
| Don’t participate wit the heartless, I’m an artist
|
| Who’s bound to be out the roach-infested apartments
|
| Chorus 2x *replace Hypnotizing w/ Magnetizing*
|
| Don’t cry, dry ya eyes 4x |