Organized Konfusion - Soundman lyrics

Yes yes yes yes yes yo Mr soundman! We would
Very much appreciate it
(yes indeed) if you add a tad bit more mids
And a little more lows to the mic (word up)
I'm on mic number one
Prince is on mic number two (yes yes yes)
A little bit more but
Right right right there, yeah
One more, c'mon, uhh (recognize)
C'mon, right yes, yes, right
Here, uhh, c'mon, down

Sorta similar to the way I
Remember to be the wordsmith
Pharoahe, God's gift to vocabulary
My personal soliloquies be killin' me softly
Still I be packin artillery
Y'all feelin' me yet?
Props don't stop HERE nigga
I knock MC's out of a six-sided figure
My strategies be tragedy to MC's
Who receive certificates from rap academies
I'm terrific with wordplay (wordplay)
Specific with verbs, say we step it up
To the next level see if I represent God
Then all my competition
Is exclusively Lucifer
See y'all used to the niggas
Who would say Devil right? (right)
But, I ain't them
(nah) they ain't me (uh huh)
With some bullshit college-ass rappin degree
But let me show you how we do it, duh duh duh
Done with the disco fluid, duh duh
But, if it ain't LOUD enough
We tell the soundman turn that shit up up up!
C'mon, c'mon

Yo Pharoahe, hold up hold up, check it
Let me introduce myself
I'm Senor El Chocolate, creme de la creme
A la cheddy
Prince Poe, God's gift to vo, cabulary
Very visual, every lyrical slide
Is spiritually projected, forever inside
Never to hide but to shine like
Diamonds inside mines
Let that ass marinate and Poe
Free flows over basslines
I'm, takin' elevatin' to next
Plateaus rippin' shows with this cosmic sex
Love on CD's and cassettes and DAT's
(now all rise) now who masters the Funk
When it's time to Flex? (Organized)
From the Southside, spar chump MC's
Thinkin they comp
But soon to get smoked like trees
I eat MC's of ALL kinds, spit out the rhyme
Regurgitate their mindstate
'cause I don't eat swine
Set it straight, online
Internet programmed to climb
You might catch me in The
Grind straight bumpin' a dime
Now let me tell you how we do it (yeah, yeah)
With that old disco fluid (uh huh)
And if it ain't LOUD enough
Tell the soundman to turn that shit up
(up) up (up) up, UP!

If it uh check it
(Turn me up now oohhhhhh ohhh yeah
O-o-o-oooh ooooooooh ooooh ohh oooh ooooh)

Tinted V8, buck and a half on the dash
All weather Pirellis
The exterior color is cash
Black Italian leather
Nakamichi system to blast
Full metal to the pedal when
We Organize on that ass
I last, amongst the mass, gettin' the cash
But in the stash fast before
The stock market crash
Splash, five quarts of
Straight water fortified
First place to get this partyin' on
In any club or on the corner
In the box with pops
In barbershops ladies got with it
In hoopties some in drop-tops
Look at love-love, fuckin with this top notch
Boombastic, ghetto dope now
Fly gymnastics of passion
With verbal toxic, rock shit (daily)
(MMMmm) The soul controller up in the cockpit
Lock shit, with my robotic optic
You ain't fuckin' with this
Prophet who's too tropic, stop it

(Hey, Mr soundman, can you boost me
Juice me up?)

I'm sendin' them in YO' face!
Spinnin' them quick wit
Synonym blendin' them in wit
Homonyms entered in
And by embalmin' them wit, shit
Whenever I spit
No need for me to go get old hit
Records to go gold wit
Yo' shit with absolutely
NO innovation whatsoever
You and all your mens not clever!
Y'all need to be TOLD that shit
You ain't bold black plans of promotional
Schemes and scams are so wack
Tracks are trash to me, nigga actually
Your platinum plaque should even go
Back to the factory
People wanna be like Michael and win
Recyclin' when the fans wanna
Hear FRESH MATERIAL
From imperial rap pros who ORGANIZE
Gettin' very intolerant at rap
Shows like lactose
In fact those niggas that act up get smacked
Backwards for bein' so anti-climac tic
Watch any mack get, put on his back with
Lyrical tactics utilized without practice
This is how we do it (YEAH YEAH) duh duh duh
Done with the disco fluid (UH-HUH) duh duh
But, if it ain't LOUD enough
Say if it ain't LOUD enough
Say if it ain't LOUD enough
We tell the soundman turn that
Motherfuckin' volume up! Nigga