Correction Paroles Ill Collabo (Clean) par Pharoahe Monch

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Paroles

Phantasm the lyrical emperor, temptin y'all
With telepathic messages that I'm sendin y'all
Minds I reach through scripts, I preach like Jim Jones in Guyana
Hurricanes through your brains like winds in Savannah
GA - Great Adventures without Six Flags
My heavenly melody causes mental zig-zags
Madness unfolds when I release scriptures and scrolls
Tall tales of goblins and trolls
Games of role playin and soul-slayin
Powered from the staff of Lord like the hammer to Thor
Clothed in only a robe, is a rogue
A thief who stеals for the chief, the Tall Man, thе High Priest
Imagine me and U.G. sipping from the Sea of Gallallee
To wash away vanity and keep our sanity
Humanity is unsafe
In this lost land beyond time and space

When I'm in a - cinematography state of mind
What I visualize will open the eyes of the blind
Pharoahe finds ways to make criminals who think crime pays, parlay and shrink
With one blink of the eye think of the guy
Who most personafies hip-hop
sh*t, I'm synonymous with Jesus Christ
In other words, the words will last forever
Word, forever blessin the mic
With verbs you never heard
For any possible typical obstacle trap despicable
My topical raps remarkable, perhaps sparkin a few
Pitiful ????? to park in the back
And participating (*clears throat*) poetical education

Aiyo, my layer floats on air atop the mountains
A sip from the mystic fountain gives me powers
To run on top of flowers across the meadows
With incredible speed that bursts the speedometer
Conquer kilometers with three monsters
The size of the Titanic, gigantic
Run, panic, run frantic
Run for your life, run your ice, run your watch
Run in spots and rock sh*t, apocalypse
No stoppin this, f**k poppin Cris'
Non-stoppin p*ss on tracks, wombats
Son, I'm feelin this
UG, Phan, Pharoahe and Po, we be the illest
What

Strictly catastrophic verses that cast curses
The mass purchase a blast, the last enter the surface
Four semen swimmin in, careers that seems birthless
Not even achievin, you heathen, you're barely breathin
What is your purpose? What is the sense of competin?
You're just a Ringling Brother who runs with a circus
And it's only peanuts you're eating
I sing an attack, bringin it back
Po, quick to flip it like hustlers slingin the crack
These daily scriptures project pictures
Yo, I play the low like spy cameras hidden inside light fixtures
I'm hot sex embedded inside the song
Mobb Deep from the back in that ass crack like a thong

Yo, it's the Phan to the -tasm (Prince to the Po)
Yeah, the U to the G (and the Monch Pharoahe)
The Ill Collabo will smack y'all, lyrically attack ya'll
Underground sound, we comin at y'all

Aiyo, I clap, frrr, clip
( *produces sounds of something flipping through the air* ) and back flip
Over walls, spot jewels and snatch sh*t
( *produces smacking sound* ) smack n***as inside of their Ac viggas
Pass the mic to Phan' so he can smash these wack n***as

Lyrical lessons, spiritual sessions and verbal blessings, no escape from
Yes, the great one has come
Towns, people stand clear, Phan's near
Riding through the streets like Paul Revere on a chariot's chair

Tommy Gun-Big Punnin these n***as, spit with vigor
Mamis love to move to the straight Henny swigger
Inspect your mental Deck, dig a hole in your neck
( *produces a smacking sound* ) smack n***as like Pharoahe said and put em in check

Yeah, strictly menace, sippin Guinness and Henness'
When I'm finished scrimmage endless
Bend chicks from here to Venice
Vintage, sends kids with a sentence
Don't mention this, invention rips yo shhh...
Like El Niño wreck sh*t hectic
My prick's long like Tec clips
I'm the specialist, stop wettin this
Yo-yo-yo-yo, U-U-U-G-G-G e-ends with a echo
What

[Hook]

clip

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