| Capital P-to-the-are-to-the, I-to-the-N-to-the-see-to
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| the-E-to-the-P-to-the-O-to-the-E. |
| TRY harder, don’t bother
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| Prince Poetry, the man, not a myth
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| I’m not the type that you can walk up and EFF with
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| Don’t sleep, just peep the whole damn connnnn-cept
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| I’M OUT TO WRECK! |
| Sucker MC’s steppin to me with garbage
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| I’m Goldilocks and I’m, taxin your porridge (yeah!)
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| Ooooooh, cold but yummy
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| I slept in your bed, and your girl sucks funny
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| I’m out to bash, beats and, drop snares
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| Crush tables and smash up chairs, YEAH
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| So consider me on a rampage
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| I spread out and hit ya like a sawed off twelve gauge
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| So back up, don’t play me close
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| Most boast to be the best, but you can’t, and will never
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| ever in your life, come close to a mic, assassinator
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| I’m playin you out like Beta
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| I’m, watchin you, front
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| Flaunt your puss-head lookin just like bark
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| This is just a verbal whippin
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| for all you who don’t fall, but you keep slippin
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| Shootin the gift for the GUH-GUH-GAB
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| I’m gonna dunk on your neck just like Kareem
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| Ab-dul, yo and ain’t cool
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| So don’t let me act like a fool
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| Cause I’m takin off from the tip-top of the key
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| with the rock passed by the Pharoahe M-O-N, see-H
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| the chosen lyrical soldier who backs me up
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| when punks verbally and, physically try to get over
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| with no skills, no comp. |
| petition
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| havin you reminiscin about a brother
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| who don’t give a DAMN about dissin
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| Black and white, clever like a superstition
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| Cause concepts flow, with the use of a
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| pen, a sheet, and when braincells meet
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| Brain-bustin MC’s try to get hype but
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| smell like doo-doo cause they can’t even wipe butt
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| Stuck-up and quite conceited
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| Your one hit song, all year long, at shows
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| everybody knows it cause you’re gonna repeat, like reruns
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| Put your iron away, cause I got three guns
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| Now that we’ve got things up and out in the open
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| and clear yo, grab a chair
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| Cause I swing with a style that’s rather ill
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| The illiterate can’t consider it legitimate so I
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| kick simplistic rhymes for the plain
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| For the peanuts, I commence to go insane
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| Shredder of a competitor, makin it better for
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| rap listeners, cause I’m headed for
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| the top of the hill where Jack can’t chill
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| Just me and Jill cause Jack has no skills
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| Now tell me why everybody wants to be a Prince
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| No skills, no sense, NONSENSE
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| I’m steppin up front, and to be quite,
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| blunt a radical creator of a poetical hypnotical mathematical
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| slang slurs punch, that stuns and amazes
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| PRINCE POETRY SHOOTS POWERFUL PHRASES
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| Interrupting your braincells, dilutin your thoughts
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| Causin side effects fully disintegratin body parts
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| Cause I stalk when I pray upon in the form of the flesh
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| Now weaken when Prince Poetry commence speakin
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| Side by side I rock with the Pharoahe
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| Watch you decomposin MC’s, and look there’s only a shadow
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| Too late, cause I’m gone, I explode
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| and I drop a hip-hop again, atomic, atom bomb
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| Releasin lyrics that you better not be usin
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| Organizin beats that you find Konfusin
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| Yeah. |
| here we go.
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| Aiyyo umm Prince (yo!) Brothers try to swing on me
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| nut I don’t think they can hit it (nah)
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| These (these) styles, MC’S they, JUST CAN’T GET IT (why?)
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| The way I are-ti-see you-late my flows (my flows!)
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| Sometimes I think I know some shit
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| some MC’s just don’t know; |
| THE
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| quicker I’m kickin the style
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| slippin and stickin the words hit quicker
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| better figure the verbs are thick in you
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| while the poetical fanatical rap acrobatical style
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| static never had any so I’m packin a black
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| automatic pistol itchy by the C.I.A.
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| By the way, my display of rhymes that I will lay
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| down on wax, distributed from a zodiac
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| Digitally, with a funky appeal
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| From the reel to reel, it doesn’t matter
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| I still got the skill to get ill
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| Straight literature when you try to hit em with your
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| WACK STYLE, the critics are sore to crack smiles
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| So back up black cause you lack the skills
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| when I ask your girl, tax your girl
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| She said she wanted it from the back so I WAXED your girl
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| So why would you try to swing, on a nigga
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| with a itchy trigger finger better bring a bigger auto
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| hit, swing a nigga if you want to get rid of me (damn)
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| Your first mistake, was to consider me |
| a new jack black when I ahhhh-lready knew that
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| So get back, step back, move back, out of my way
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| when I roll offbeat (offbeat) again
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| Again and again and again and again and again
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| Blending the style, mending it like this
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| so that you can check it out when I flow awkwardly
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| Awkwardly I flow, yo, let’s go
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| Most don’t recollect me as T-are-O, why
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| cause I’ma get fly, with a microphone
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| dope with a microphone, you can’t cope with a microphone
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| cause I’ma be illin, buckin off into your grill and
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| fillin your face with knuckles and watchin the blood spill in
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| down the sewer, always knew I could do a brother
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| with a crew of, good MC’s
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| Or maybe even a few are stale MC’s
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| I scatter data that’ll catapault a metaphor
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| The epitcle epilogue editor
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| Trendsetter, letters are formin together
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| in the jaw side of my mouth, I’m alphabetic
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| Call me a librarian, rhymes are scary when
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| I mix verbs and phrases and put the vocabulary in places
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| where, only the M-O-N-see-H can do it
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| So don’t ever despise
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| Red is the color when you look in to my Organized/eyes
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| you’ll see Konfusion
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| When I’m usin a style for abusin MC’s are loosin. |
| quick
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| The O-are-G-A-N-I-Z-E-D-K-O-N-F-you-S-I-N-G will TRANSMIT! |