[Verse 1: Prince Poetry]
Capital P to the R to the I
To the N to the C to the E
To the P to the O to the E, try harder
Don't bother
Prince Poetry, the man, not a myth
I'm not the type that you can walk up and F with
Don't sleep, just peep the whole damn
Concept, I'm out to wreck
Sucker MCs steppin' to me with garbage
I'm Goldilocks and I'm taxin' your porridge (Yeah)
Ooh, cold, but yummy
I slept in your bed and your girl sucks funny
I'm out to bash beats and drop snares
Crush tables and smash up chairs, yeah
So consider me on a rampage
I spread out and hit ya like a sawed-off twelve gauge
So back up, don't play me close
Most boast to be the best, but you can't
And will never ever in your life come close to a mic assassinator
I'm playin' you out like Beta
I'm watchin' you front
Flauntin' your pus-head lookin' just like bark
This is just a verbal whippin'
For all you who don't fall, but you keep slippin'
Shootin' the gift of the g— g— gab
I'm gonna dunk on your neck just like Kareem Abdul
Yo, and it ain't cool
So don't let me act like a fool
'Cause I'm takin' off from the tip-top of the key
With the rock passed by the Pharoahe M-O-N
C-H the chosen lyrical soldier that backs me up
When punks verbally and physically try to get over
With no skills, no comp-
Petition, havin' you reminiscin' about a brother
Who don't give a damn about dissin'
Black and quite clever like a superstition
'Cause concepts flow with the use of a
Pen, a sheet, and when brain cells meet
Brain-bustin' MCs try to get hype, but
Smell like doo-doo 'cause they can't even wipe butt
Stuck-up and quite conceited
Your one hit song all year long at shows
Everybody knows it, 'cause you're gonna repeat it like reruns
Put your iron away, 'cause I got three guns
Now that we've got things up and out in the open
And clear, yo, grab a chair
'Cause I swing with a style that's rather ill
The illiterate can't consider it legitimate, so I
Kick simplistic rhymes for the plain
For the peanuts, I commence to go insane
Shredder of the competitor, makin' it better for
Rap listeners, 'cause I'm headed for
The top of the hill where Jack can't chill
Just me and Jill 'cause Jack has no skills
Now tell me why everybody wants to be a Prince
No skills, no sense, nonsense
I'm steppin' up front, and to be quite blunt a radical
Creator of a poetical, hypnotical, mathematical
Slang slurs, punch that stuns and amazes
Prince Poetry shoots powerful phrases
Interrupting your brain cells, dilutin' your thoughts
Causin' side effects fully disintegratin' body parts
'Cause I stalk when I pray upon in the form of the flesh
Now weaken when Prince Poetry commence speakin'
Side by side I rock with the Pharoahe
Watchin' you decomposin' MCs, and look there's only a shadow
Too late, 'cause I'm gone, I explode
And I drop a hip-hop again, atomic, atom bomb
Releasin' lyrics that you better not be usin'
Organizin' beats that you find confusin'
[Verse 2: Pharoahe Monch]
Ayo, um, Prince (Yo), brothers try to swing on me
But I don't think they can hit it (Nah)
These styles, MCs they just can't get it (Why?)
The way I articulate my flows (My flows)
Sometimes I think I know some shit
Some MCs just don't know the
Quicker I'm kickin' the style
I'm slippin' and stickin' the words hit quicker
Better figure the verbs are thick in you
While the poetical fanatical rap acrobatical style
Static never had it so I'm packin' a black
Automatic pistol itchy by the C.I.A.
By the way, my display of rhymes that I will lay
Down on wax, distributed from a zodiac
Digitally with a funky appeal
From the reel to reel, it doesn't matter
I still got the skill to get ill
Straight literature when you try to hit 'em with your
Wack style, the critics are sure to crack smiles
So back up, Black, 'cause you lack the skills
When I ask your girl, tax your girl
She said she wanted it from the back, so I waxed your girl
So why would you try to swing on a nigga
With a itchy trigger finger? Better bring a bigger auto
Hit, swing a nigga if you wanna get rid of me (Damn)
Your first mistake was to consider me
A new jack, Black, when I already knew that
So get back, step back, move back out of my way
When I roll off-beat (Off-beat) again
Again and again and again and again and again
Blending the style, mending it like this
So that you can check it out when I flow awkwardly
Awkwardly I flow, yo, let's go
Most don't recollect me as T-R-O-Y
'Cause I'ma get fly with a microphone
Dope with a microphone, you can't cope with a microphone
'Cause I'ma be illin', buckin' off into your grill and
Fillin' your face with knuckles and watchin' the blood spillin'
Down the sewer, always knew I could do a brother
With a crew of good MCs
Or maybe even a few are stale MCs
I scatter data that'll catapult a metaphor
The epit-icle epilogue editor
Trendsetter, letters are formin' together
In the jaw inside of my mouth, I'm alphabetic
Call me a librarian, rhymes are scary when
I mix verbs and phrases and put the vocabulary in places
Where only the M-O-N-C-H can do it
So don't ever despise me
Red is the color when you look in to my organ-eyes
You'll see confusion
When I'm usin' a style for abusin', MCs are losin'
Quick
The O-R-G-A-N-I-Z-E-D K-O-N-F
U-S-I-N-G will transmit
