Bring It On

[Chorus: The Ill Rahlos] Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on! Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on! Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on! Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on! [Verse 1: Pharoahe Monch] Monch, uh! I even be getting more graphic than a Neo Geo thirty-two-bit Computer chip be slipped between my lips, and then I’ll spit! Spit it out, spit it out, go ahead, spit it out, that itty-bitty style you upchuck Better believe I butt-fuck emcees from the rear, it appears you’re stuck-up! It’s my terminology that strike the mind and rips this beat apart You know the many styles I choose will bruise crews from the start I flow, awkwardly—that’s awkwardly I flow that’s to the rhythm Incisions are made into the brain, and then I begin to give ‘em a lobotomy Follow me, I’m shaping your brain like pottery all over the track Gimme the P-H, gimme the A-R, gimme the O-A, gimme the H-E, Pharoahe! Crazy poison-tip arrows are hitting you from all directions You cannot dodge or manage to dislodge them from the point at which they are connecting I am se-se-selecting a ne-ne-ne-ne-new style-style fo-fo-for Pile-piles of emcees who try to get bu-bu-buck-buckwild F-f-f-fuck that! When I’m in a renovative state of mind, I’m innovative Never been afraid of rocking a microphone, I’m prone to be eliminating Cling when I sing a song of sixpence, if it makes sense, then sing along Cling along to my nuts if you got guts then bring it on [Chorus: The Ill Rahlos] Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on! Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on! Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on! Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on! Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on! Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on! Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on! Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on! [Verse 2: Prince Poetry] There is no equivalent one, consider me the epitome of rhymes Rhythm of TECs execution is parallel to them with an exception of the organisms My telepathy cannot be dismantled, so stop sweating me Advanced data, now watch your greater updates and raps get trampled Fee-fi-fo steps of elevation show That I’m ahead of your time, specifically right behind a dope rhyme Ripping shit up at primetime, I’m Optimus Primetime material Imperial wizard of vocabularic havoc, I eat emcees like cereal That’s soggy, milky skills like Mister Miyagi When it’s foggy, I release globby spits of remains of rappers in a lobby as a hobby I’ll rip your knit, shit gets thick quick, get your crew Before I do something gory to your quite futile styles Miniature raps get waxed, simonized Into the fifth dimension of your centrifugal, never typical—stand attention, I’m Mystical, rip shit ‘til the power blows Those chose to compete, we delete ‘em—observe defeat Descending down from above to get cha, hit cha, split cha, ditch cha Picture you victorious? I’m gory plus your shit’s mad boring Bring it on [Chorus: Ill Rahlos] Bring it on, bring it on Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on! Bring it on, bring it on Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on!