Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Brainstorm / P.S.K., artist - Lord Finesse.
Date of issue: 06.02.1996
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Brainstorm / P.S.K. |
Now we found out, some time ago that if you take a whole group of really |
superbad dudes, and hang em in together they’ll make some music whether or not |
somebody else thought it was hip or not. |
You know, they be OK. |
You dig? |
Somebody’s got to start it. |
Verse One: O.C. |
It’s like me against anyone |
First full verse is spontaneous, combustion thrusts me No rapper can dust me Bounced upon the scene with a theme, Word… Life |
I cut fantasy out cause I differ from a dream |
Wisdom lies deep in my molecules, you assumed |
I fell victim to, hip-hop blues |
You way off I stay on tour often rockin spots |
on the California coast, range you know back to Boston |
Enforcin my theory, leavin rappers teary-eyed |
Fly most who came and thought they had stride |
You accustomed to cussin and bluffin fussin for nothin |
Half of y’all crumbs are just soft like muffins |
I bake, masterpieces, sharper thesis |
Y’all candy coated motherfuckers stink like feces |
Needless to say, are these running shoes yours? |
You retreated when I gave out head for wars |
My microphone set is immensely brick wall |
Solid in and out you slept so now snore |
Who got my back, you ask Lord and BlastMaster |
Unorthodox, combinations from the masters |
Mics I menace, when it’s finished |
You get an understanding of what we bringin, no gimmicks |
Verse Two: Lord Finesse |
My decision is precision, I’m ill in ways you can’t vision |
I got niggaz worshippin Lord Finesse like religion |
You can’t fuck around, you’re kiddin |
You don’t want no collision, you better fly South like a pigeon |
Good riddance, I flip flows you can’t imagine |
I break down your Flintstone style, into fragments |
So pay attention to the man rappin |
Don’t think that it can’t, I’m livin proof, it can happen |
I reign supreme logical, verbally, I drop it in ways |
that you never dreamed possible |
So lyrically, I personally figure |
That my Harvard style, is too deep for you nursery niggaz |
When I clutch the mic, I’m comin rough and right |
I build more than them workers on construction sights |
I’m skilled at it, I’m Illmatic |
So yes answers your question if you ask me do I still have it |
I’m the realest, the illest |
Comin out the woodwork, like them homos in the Village |
But seriously, I’m got the remedy |
If I’s at the bottom of the toilet |
you niggaz still couldn’t shit on me Originally, it’s the same the vet |
I’m on that get rich list, but they didn’t call my name yet |
I make it special like a prom night I bomb mics |
while other brothers are old news like Walter Kronkite |
It’s critical, you got these Xerox individuals |
But word life, it ain’t nothin like the original |
I wreck kids, that’s my theory and perspective |
When it comes to hip-hop, I’m on the case like detectives |
You better step to the next man |
Cause the greatest soccer player couldn’t kick it like Finesse can |
Verse Three: KRS-One |
This is the scientific extra-prolific terrific |
mystic simplistic metaphysic, no gimmick type lyric |
When you hear it or hear me, runnin through the scrimmages |
You see images, affecting your sight to make you go |
(Yo there he is! No there he is!) No here he is Rockin your superiors, in your hardest area |
Your lyrical skills are inferior |
It’s because your video that they cheer for ya |
I’ll take care of ya, quickly, cause I cannot take it Your weak head needs to be decapitated |
Cause you fake it If your heart was caffeine, well you’re now decaffeinated |
You scream battle but it’s the end of your career |
you anticipate it, I hate itCareer ended, how splendid |
For wack MC’s I come doctor recommended |
Haha! |
You know whassup when Lord Finesse up in the piece |
All you wack ass rappers better go rewrite your album |
O.C. |
in the house, KRS in the house, yeah |
New York style in the house, yeah |
BDP crew in the house, YEAH… |