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