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