Bring It On Organized Konfusion

[Hook: The Ill Rahlos]
Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on!
Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on!
Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on!
Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on!

[Verse 1: Pharoahe Monch]
Monch, uh!
I even be getting more graphic than a Neo Geo thirty-two-bit
Computer chip be slipped between my lips, and then I’ll spit!
Spit it out, spit it out, go ahead, spit it 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 strike 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 brain like pottery 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 bu-bu-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, then sing along
Cling along to my nuts if you got guts then bring it on