Soundman Lyrics - Organized Konfusion

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 niggaz who would say devil right? 

(Right) 

But I ain't them, they ain't me 

(Nah, 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 vocabulary 

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, ooh, ohh, yeah) 

(Ooh, ooh, ooh, ohh, ooh, ooh) 

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, mmm) 

The soul controller up in the cockpit 

Lock shit with my robotic optic 

You ain't fuckin' with this propher, 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', homynyms 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 when 

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 niggaz 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, duh, duh, duh 

(Yeah, yeah) 

Done with the disco fluid, duh, duh 

(Uh, huh) 

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