Luyện nghe bài hát Soundman

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes
Yo, Mr. Soundman, we would much appreciate it
(Yes indeed)
If you add a tad bit mids
And a little more to the mic
(Word up)

I'm on mic number one, is on mic number two
(Yes, yes, yes)
A little bit more but right, right, there, yeah
One more, c'mon, uhh
(Recognize)
C'mon, right, yes, yes, right here, uhh, c'mon,

Sorta to the way I remember to be the Wordsmith
Pharoahe, God's to vocabulary
My personal soliloquies be me softly
Still I be packin' artillery, feelin' me yet?

Props stop here, nigga
I knock MC's out of a figure
My strategies be tragedy to
Who certificates from rap academies

I'm terrific with
(Wordplay)
Specific with verbs, say we step it up to the level
See if I God
all my competition is exclusively Lucifer

See y'all used to the niggaz who would say right?
(Right)
But I ain't them, ain't me
(Nah, uh, huh)
With some bullshit college-ass rappin'
But let me you how we do it, duh, duh, duh

Done the disco fluid, duh, duh
But if it ain't loud
We tell the soundman, that shit up, up, up
C'mon,

Yo, Pharoahe, hold up, hold up, it
Let me myself
I'm Senor El Chocolate, creme de la creme, a la
Prince Poe, God's to vocabulary

visual, every lyrical slide
Is projected, forever inside
Never to hide but to like diamonds inside mines
Let ass marinate and Poe free flows over basslines

I'm takin' elevatin' to
Plateaus, shows with this cosmic sex
Love on CD's and and DAT's
(Now all rise)
Now who masters the when it's time to Flex?
(Organized)

From the Southside, spar MC's
Thinkin' they comp, but soon to get smoked like
I eat MC's of all kinds, out the rhyme
their mindstate 'cause I don't eat swine

Set it straight, online, programmed to climb
You might me in The Grind
Straight bumpin' a
Now let me you how we do it
(Yeah, yeah)

With that old disco
(Uh, huh)
And if it loud enough
Tell the soundman to turn shit up
Up, up, up
(Up, up)

If it, uh, it

(Turn me up now, ooh, ohh, yeah)
(Ooh, ooh, ooh, ohh, ooh, ooh)

V8, buck and a half on the dash
All weather Pirellis, the exterior color is
Black Italian leather, Nakamichi system to
Full metal to the pedal when we on that ass

I last, amongst the mass, the cash
But in the stash fast before the stock crash
Splash, five quarts of straight fortified
First to get this partyin' on

In any or on the corner in the box with pops
In barbershops, got with it in hoopties, some in drop-tops
Look at love-love, fuckin' this top-notch
Boombastic, ghetto now, fly gymnastics of passion

With toxic, rock shit
(Daily, mmm)
The soul up in the cockpit
shit with my robotic optic
You ain't fuckin' with this propher, who's too Stop it

(Hey, Mr.
Can you boost me, me up?)

I'm sendin' them in yo face, spinnin' quick wit'
blendin' them in wit', homynyms entered in
And by them wit', shit, whenever I spit
No need for me to go, get old hit, records to go gold

Yo shit with absolutely no innovation
You and all your mens not
Y'all need to be told shit
You bold black plans of promotional schemes

And scams are so
Tracks are to me, nigga actually
Your plaque should even go back to the factory
People be like Michael and when

Recyclin' the fans wanna hear Fresh Material
From imperial rap pros who
Gettin' very intolerant at rap like lactose
In those niggaz that act up get smacked

Backwards for so anti-climac, tic
Watch any mack get, put on his with
Lyrical tactics utilized without

is how we do it, duh, duh, duh
(Yeah, yeah)
Done with the fluid, duh, duh
(Uh, huh)

But if it ain't loud
Say if it ain't loud
Say if it ain't enough
We the soundman turn that motherfuckin' volume up, nigga