Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Organized Konfusion, artist - Organized Konfusion.
Date of issue: 28.10.1991
Song language: English
Organized Konfusion |
Capital P-to-the-are-to-the, I-to-the-N-to-the-see-to |
the-E-to-the-P-to-the-O-to-the-E. |
TRY harder, don’t bother |
Prince Poetry, the man, not a myth |
I’m not the type that you can walk up and EFF with |
Don’t sleep, just peep the whole damn connnnn-cept |
I’M OUT TO WRECK! |
Sucker MC’s steppin to me with garbage |
I’m Goldilocks and I’m, taxin your porridge (yeah!) |
Ooooooh, cold but yummy |
I slept in your bed, and your girl sucks funny |
I’m out to bash, beats and, drop snares |
Crush tables and smash up chairs, YEAH |
So consider me on a rampage |
I spread out and hit ya like a sawed off twelve gauge |
So back up, don’t play me close |
Most boast to be the best, but you can’t, and will never |
ever in your life, come close to a mic, assassinator |
I’m playin you out like Beta |
I’m, watchin you, front |
Flaunt your puss-head lookin just like bark |
This is just a verbal whippin |
for all you who don’t fall, but you keep slippin |
Shootin the gift for the GUH-GUH-GAB |
I’m gonna dunk on your neck just like Kareem |
Ab-dul, yo and ain’t cool |
So don’t let me act like a fool |
Cause I’m takin off from the tip-top of the key |
with the rock passed by the Pharoahe M-O-N, see-H |
the chosen lyrical soldier who backs me up |
when punks verbally and, physically try to get over |
with no skills, no comp. |
petition |
havin you reminiscin about a brother |
who don’t give a DAMN about dissin |
Black and white, clever like a superstition |
Cause concepts flow, with the use of a |
pen, a sheet, and when braincells meet |
Brain-bustin MC’s try to get hype but |
smell like doo-doo cause they can’t even wipe butt |
Stuck-up and quite conceited |
Your one hit song, all year long, at shows |
everybody knows it cause you’re gonna repeat, like reruns |
Put your iron away, cause I got three guns |
Now that we’ve got things up and out in the open |
and clear yo, grab a chair |
Cause I swing with a style that’s rather ill |
The illiterate can’t consider it legitimate so I |
kick simplistic rhymes for the plain |
For the peanuts, I commence to go insane |
Shredder of a competitor, makin it better for |
rap listeners, cause I’m headed for |
the top of the hill where Jack can’t chill |
Just me and Jill cause Jack has no skills |
Now tell me why everybody wants to be a Prince |
No skills, no sense, NONSENSE |
I’m steppin up front, and to be quite, |
blunt a radical creator of a poetical hypnotical mathematical |
slang slurs punch, that stuns and amazes |
PRINCE POETRY SHOOTS POWERFUL PHRASES |
Interrupting your braincells, dilutin your thoughts |
Causin side effects fully disintegratin body parts |
Cause I stalk when I pray upon in the form of the flesh |
Now weaken when Prince Poetry commence speakin |
Side by side I rock with the Pharoahe |
Watch you decomposin MC’s, and look there’s only a shadow |
Too late, cause I’m gone, I explode |
and I drop a hip-hop again, atomic, atom bomb |
Releasin lyrics that you better not be usin |
Organizin beats that you find Konfusin |
Yeah. |
here we go. |
Aiyyo umm Prince (yo!) Brothers try to swing on me |
nut I don’t think they can hit it (nah) |
These (these) styles, MC’S they, JUST CAN’T GET IT (why?) |
The way I are-ti-see you-late my flows (my flows!) |
Sometimes I think I know some shit |
some MC’s just don’t know; |
THE |
quicker I’m kickin the style |
slippin and stickin the words hit quicker |
better figure the verbs are thick in you |
while the poetical fanatical rap acrobatical style |
static never had any so I’m packin a black |
automatic pistol itchy by the C.I.A. |
By the way, my display of rhymes that I will lay |
down on wax, distributed from a zodiac |
Digitally, with a funky appeal |
From the reel to reel, it doesn’t matter |
I still got the skill to get ill |
Straight literature when you try to hit em with your |
WACK STYLE, the critics are sore to crack smiles |
So back up black cause you lack the skills |
when I ask your girl, tax your girl |
She said she wanted it from the back so I WAXED your girl |
So why would you try to swing, on a nigga |
with a itchy trigger finger better bring a bigger auto |
hit, swing a nigga if you want to get rid of me (damn) |
Your first mistake, was to consider me |
a new jack black when I ahhhh-lready knew that |
So get back, step back, move back, out of my way |
when I roll offbeat (offbeat) again |
Again and again and again and again and again |
Blending the style, mending it like this |
so that you can check it out when I flow awkwardly |
Awkwardly I flow, yo, let’s go |
Most don’t recollect me as T-are-O, why |
cause I’ma get fly, with a microphone |
dope with a microphone, you can’t cope with a microphone |
cause I’ma be illin, buckin off into your grill and |
fillin your face with knuckles and watchin the blood spill in |
down the sewer, always knew I could do a brother |
with a crew of, good MC’s |
Or maybe even a few are stale MC’s |
I scatter data that’ll catapault a metaphor |
The epitcle epilogue editor |
Trendsetter, letters are formin together |
in the jaw side of my mouth, I’m alphabetic |
Call me a librarian, rhymes are scary when |
I mix verbs and phrases and put the vocabulary in places |
where, only the M-O-N-see-H can do it |
So don’t ever despise |
Red is the color when you look in to my Organized/eyes |
you’ll see Konfusion |
When I’m usin a style for abusin MC’s are loosin. |
quick |
The O-are-G-A-N-I-Z-E-D-K-O-N-F-you-S-I-N-G will TRANSMIT! |