Bring It On (The Lost Remix) Organized Konfusion (Ft. The Ill Rahlos)

[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!!