CORRIGER LES PAROLES
Paroles : The Lyricist
Verse 1:
Aiyyo, I maintain focus and precision when ripping
And shatter the stigma that rappers all carry gangster pretension
Instead my intention is to simply just hit you with writtens
The illest of writtens
Listen as I'm beginning to kick it with skill that's exquisite
And luminescent, yet devilish
Giving maximum effort
Although it seems so effortless, I would deem it evident
As I gleam in excellence, as the cream of prevalent checkers of microphones
I've got you nodding your domes and feeling chills in your bones, it's clear that I'm hitting home
For sure, I'm on a mission to flatten farrago foes
Ripping and slashing like Allen I does to a zone--
Don't need your dollars and cents
Just listen, ladies and gents:
Heed an MC that's flowing fresh like a new opened vent
Since
The realest heads are incensed
At the lack of talent and ragged raps of the less than authentic
Hook:
What's this?
Oh, it's a lyricist
Resurrecting the essence of rapping whenever I spit
And whatchugon' do?
Bless mics over every track that I rip
Presenting a wordsmith:
Savant is a lyricist
(Repeat)
Verse 2:
Let's get this cracking:
Roberta Flacking the wack, and
Killing 'em softly, while saturating the track with
Rhymes that are jagged enough to snap at its challengers
Yet placid and facile enough to be lapped from a chalice
The rap ballast is back to restore balance
And trap malice while making this music valid again
So it begins, this valiant cherubim
Battles the wackness that counteracts the game from within
MCs are corn flakers, dismantle them like the Lakers
And leave them laying like Sprite did to Kobe
Any takers?
I thought not
My thoughts rock
Like Though Trot
You ought not step to me; topping Scholar's a long shot
I profit not monetarily, but through love
"Supa Luv" like Jean Grae does: pounds and hugs
And not from thugs; rather I fill them with verbal slugs
Destroying their credibility, snatching their ice and dubs
As such the clubs get shut down due to influx
A rush
Of heads who're fiending to hear the tracks that I touch
With rhymes deluxe
My pad is the canvas, my pen is the brush
That paints lyrical images causing n!ggas to lust for more
As I build trust and restore feelings of much rapport
Between the public and MCs that they adore
Adjust the roar in your speakers and in your tweeters
Believe it: I speak with the heat and conviction of Jesus
Hook
Verse 3:
Hotter than most dudes
I won't stop, I'll dispose of you
After dropping and rolling you for you thinking you're close to
You know who
Scholar's flow is like Pro Tools:
Intricate, or, inventive, or, exquisite or never the norm
Better than yours; that's right: better than yours
Settle this level, leave you leveled and sore
For sure in store there's plenty more
Metaphors and rhymes galore, I'm tight raw
In this kind of war, my pen is a sword: it demands action
My Bic's Excalibur
My name is Lancelot
The Round Table's a cypher for fellow lyricists
I'm serious: who would dare say that they really ain't feeling us?
We spit it thus and fellowship like we're relatives
Never lacking intelligence
Touch topics of relevance
Meddle with and you must've been sniffing mescaline
Make certain your testament's written before you come testing this
Hook
Aiyyo, I maintain focus and precision when ripping
And shatter the stigma that rappers all carry gangster pretension
Instead my intention is to simply just hit you with writtens
The illest of writtens
Listen as I'm beginning to kick it with skill that's exquisite
And luminescent, yet devilish
Giving maximum effort
Although it seems so effortless, I would deem it evident
As I gleam in excellence, as the cream of prevalent checkers of microphones
I've got you nodding your domes and feeling chills in your bones, it's clear that I'm hitting home
For sure, I'm on a mission to flatten farrago foes
Ripping and slashing like Allen I does to a zone--
Don't need your dollars and cents
Just listen, ladies and gents:
Heed an MC that's flowing fresh like a new opened vent
Since
The realest heads are incensed
At the lack of talent and ragged raps of the less than authentic
Hook:
What's this?
Oh, it's a lyricist
Resurrecting the essence of rapping whenever I spit
And whatchugon' do?
Bless mics over every track that I rip
Presenting a wordsmith:
Savant is a lyricist
(Repeat)
Verse 2:
Let's get this cracking:
Roberta Flacking the wack, and
Killing 'em softly, while saturating the track with
Rhymes that are jagged enough to snap at its challengers
Yet placid and facile enough to be lapped from a chalice
The rap ballast is back to restore balance
And trap malice while making this music valid again
So it begins, this valiant cherubim
Battles the wackness that counteracts the game from within
MCs are corn flakers, dismantle them like the Lakers
And leave them laying like Sprite did to Kobe
Any takers?
I thought not
My thoughts rock
Like Though Trot
You ought not step to me; topping Scholar's a long shot
I profit not monetarily, but through love
"Supa Luv" like Jean Grae does: pounds and hugs
And not from thugs; rather I fill them with verbal slugs
Destroying their credibility, snatching their ice and dubs
As such the clubs get shut down due to influx
A rush
Of heads who're fiending to hear the tracks that I touch
With rhymes deluxe
My pad is the canvas, my pen is the brush
That paints lyrical images causing n!ggas to lust for more
As I build trust and restore feelings of much rapport
Between the public and MCs that they adore
Adjust the roar in your speakers and in your tweeters
Believe it: I speak with the heat and conviction of Jesus
Hook
Verse 3:
Hotter than most dudes
I won't stop, I'll dispose of you
After dropping and rolling you for you thinking you're close to
You know who
Scholar's flow is like Pro Tools:
Intricate, or, inventive, or, exquisite or never the norm
Better than yours; that's right: better than yours
Settle this level, leave you leveled and sore
For sure in store there's plenty more
Metaphors and rhymes galore, I'm tight raw
In this kind of war, my pen is a sword: it demands action
My Bic's Excalibur
My name is Lancelot
The Round Table's a cypher for fellow lyricists
I'm serious: who would dare say that they really ain't feeling us?
We spit it thus and fellowship like we're relatives
Never lacking intelligence
Touch topics of relevance
Meddle with and you must've been sniffing mescaline
Make certain your testament's written before you come testing this
Hook
