Bring It On (The Lost Remix)

[Hook: Prince Poetry, The Ill Rahlos, and All] x3

Bring it on!

You could set my mode to whatever!

Or simply pay the penalties for walking this endeavor

My observations on your alter egos that left you penetrated

We’ll devastate!  How you fucking poor when you fake?!?

[Verse 1: Pharoahe Monch, The Ill Rahlos, and All]

Bring it on!

Even be getting more graphic, Neo-Geo, thirty-two-bit

Computer chip be slipped between my lips, and then I’ll spit!

Spit it out Out!, spit it out Out!, go ahead, spit it out 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 strikes 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 br-ayi-yi-ya-in… li-li-li-li-like…

Pot-der-der-der-ery... (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 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/cents, then sing along, cling along to my nuts

If you got guts, then bring it on Bring it on!!

[Hook: Prince Poetry, The Ill Rahlos, and All] x3

Bring it on!

You could set my mode to whatever!

Or simply pay the penalties for walking this endeavor

My observations on your alter egos that left you penetrated

We’ll devastate!  How you fucking poor when you fake?!?

[Verse 2: Prince Poetry, The Ill Rahlos, and All]

Bring it on!

There’s no equivalent one.  Consider me the epitome of rhymes, rhythm of TECs

Execution is parallel to them with an exception of the Organismz

My telepathy can’t be dismantled, so

Stop sweating me, getting me vexed while outdated raps get trampled

FEE-FI-FOE steps of elevation show that I’m

Ahead of your time 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?  The story is you’re boring

Bring it on!

[Hook: Prince Poetry, The Ill Rahlos, and All] x2

Bring it on!

You could set my mode to whatever!

Or simply pay the penalties for walking this endeavor

My observations on your alter egos that left you penetrated

We’ll devastate!  How you fucking poor when you fake?!?

[Outro: The Ill Rahlos]

Bring it on!  Whatever!

We’ll devastate!  How you fucking poor when you fake?!?

Bring it on!