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 more
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 but right, right, right there, yeah
One more, c'mon, uhh
(Recognize)
C'mon, right, yes, yes, right here, uhh, c'mon,

similar to the way I remember to be the Wordsmith
Pharoahe, God's to vocabulary
My personal be killin' me softly
I be packin' artillery, y'all feelin' me yet?

Props don't here, nigga
I knock out of a six-sided figure
My be tragedy to MC's
Who receive certificates from rap

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

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

with the disco fluid, duh, duh
But if it loud enough
We the soundman, turn that shit up, up, up
C'mon,

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

Very visual, lyrical slide
Is projected, forever inside
Never to hide but to shine like diamonds inside
Let that ass marinate and Poe free over basslines

I'm takin' to next
Plateaus, rippin' shows this cosmic sex
Love on and cassettes and DAT's
(Now all rise)
Now who masters the Funk when it's 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
Regurgitate their mindstate 'cause I don't eat

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

With that old fluid
(Uh, huh)
And if it ain't enough
Tell the to turn that 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 to blast
Full to the pedal when we Organize on that ass

I last, amongst the mass, the cash
But in the fast before the stock market crash
Splash, five quarts of straight water
First place to get this on

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

With toxic, rock shit
(Daily, mmm)
The controller up in the cockpit
shit with my robotic optic
You fuckin' with this propher, who's too tropic? Stop it

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

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

Yo shit with no innovation whatsoever
You and all your mens not
need to be told that shit
You ain't black plans of promotional schemes

And scams are so
Tracks are trash to me, actually
Your platinum plaque should even go back to the
wanna be like Michael and when

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

for bein' so anti-climac, tic
Watch any get, put on his back with
tactics utilized without practice

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

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