Organized Konfusion - Organized Konfusion Lyrics
[prince poetry]Capital p-to-the-r-to-the, i-to-the-n-to-the-c-toThe-e-to-the-p-to-the-o-to-the-e.. try harder, dont botherPrince poetry, the man, not a mythIm not the type that you can walk up and eff withDont sleep, just peep the whole damn connnnn-ceptIm out to wreck!! sucker mcs steppin to me with garbageIm goldilocks and im, taxin your porridge (yeah!)Ooooooh, cold but yummyI slept in your bed, and your girl sucks funnyIm out to bash, beats and, drop snaresCrush tables and smash up chairs, yeahSo consider me on a rampageI spread out and hit ya like a sawed off twelve gaugeSo back up, dont play me closeMost boast to be the best, but you cant, and will neverEver in your life, come close to a mic, assassinatorIm playin you out like betaIm, watchin you, frontFlaunt your puss-head lookin just like barkThis is just a verbal whippinFor all you who dont fall, but you keep slippinShootin the gift for the guh-guh-gabIm gonna dunk on your neck just like kareemAb-dul, yo and aint coolSo dont let me act like a foolCause Im takin off from the tip-top of the keyWith the rock passed by the pharoahe m-o-n, c-hThe chosen lyrical soldier who backs me upWhen punks verbally and, physically try to get overWith no skills, no comp..petitionHavin you reminiscin about a brotherWho dont give a damn about dissinBlack and white, clever like a superstitionCause concepts flow, with the use of aPen, a sheet, and when braincells meetBrain-bustin mcs try to get hype butSmell like doo-doo cause they cant even wipe buttStuck-up and quite conceitedYour one hit song, all year long, at showsEverybody knows it cause youre gonna repeat, like rerunsPut your iron away, cause I got three gunsNow that weve got things up and out in the openAnd clear yo, grab a chairCause I swing with a style thats rather illThe illiterate cant consider it legitimate so iKick simplistic rhymes for the plainFor the peanuts, I commence to go insaneShredder of a competitor, makin it better forRap listeners, cause Im headed forThe top of the hill where jack cant chillJust me and jill cause jack has no skillsNow tell me why everybody wants to be a princeNo skills, no sense, nonsenseIm steppin up front, and to be quite,Blunt a radical creator of a poetical hypnotical mathematicalSlang slurs punch, that stuns and amazesPrince poetry shoots powerful phrasesInterrupting your braincells, dilutin your thoughtsCausin side effects fully disintegratin body partsCause I stalk when I pray upon in the form of the fleshNow weaken when prince poetry commence speakinSide by side I rock with the pharoaheWatch you decomposin mcs, and look theres only a shadowToo late, cause Im gone, I explodeAnd I drop a hip-hop again, atomic, atom bombReleasin lyrics that you better not be usinOrganizin beats that you find konfusin[pharoahe monch]Yeah.. here we go..Aiyyo umm prince (yo!) brothers try to swing on meNut I dont think they can hit it (nah)These (these) styles, mcs they, just cant get it (why? )The way I ar-ti-cu-late my flows (my flows!)Sometimes I think I know some shitSome mcs just dont know; theQuicker Im kickin the styleSlippin and stickin the words hit quickerBetter figure the verbs are thick in youWhile the poetical fanatical rap acrobatical styleStatic never had any so Im packin a blackAutomatic pistol itchy by the c.i.a.By the way, my display of rhymes that I will layDown on wax, distributed from a zodiacDigitally, with a funky appealFrom the reel to reel, it doesnt matterI still got the skill to get illStraight literature when you try to hit em with yourWack style, the critics are sore to crack smilesSo back up black cause you lack the skillsWhen I ask your girl, tax your girlShe said she wanted it from the back so I waxed your girlSo why would you try to swing, on a niggaWith a itchy trigger finger better bring a bigger autoHit, swing a nigga if you wanna get rid of me (damn)Your first mistake, was to consider meA new jack black when I ahhhh-lready knew thatSo get back, step back, move back, out of my wayWhen I roll offbeat (offbeat) againAgain and again and again and again and againBlending the style, mending it like thisSo that you can check it out when I flow awkwardlyAwkwardly I flow, yo, lets goMost dont recollect me as t-r-o, yCause ima get fly, with a microphoneDope with a microphone, you cant cope with a microphoneCause ima be illin, buckin off into your grill andFillin your face with knuckles and watchin the blood spill inDown the sewer, always knew I could do a brotherWith a crew of, good mcsOr maybe even a few are stale mcsI scatter data thatll catapault a metaphorThe epitcle epilogue editorTrendsetter, letters are formin togetherIn the jaw side of my mouth, Im alphabeticCall me a librarian, rhymes are scary whenI mix verbs and phrases and put the vocabulary in placesWhere, only the m-o-n-c-h can do itSo dont ever despiseRed is the color when you look in to my organized/eyesYoull see konfusionWhen Im usin a style for abusin mcs are loosin.. quickThe o-r-g-a-n-i-z-e-d-k-o-n-f-u-s-i-n-g will transmit!
