Constellation Funk El-P (Ft. Uncommon Nasa)

[Intro: El-P]
And don't take this personally, one, two
But a..
(Scorpio oe-oe-oh)
I just want to say that
(Scorpio oe-oe-oh)
Yo, yo, yo

[Verse 1: El-P]
Hello, Fresh. Welcome home. This is home plate, stage
Murder breath, one, I, solo step. Bring it
El Product, in to duck, snuggle in, tight fight
This is, what? Something to define me, baby
Running man, run quick, scissor sticks, spray out
Look into semantics, man, look into them closely
Most host parasite
Eve of the title fight
Someone took a dive tonight
Follow where the money goes
Sick as this, money makes love thunk cardiac money black heart thump
Make me punch faces
Pervert kings stood behind the curtain for the blade stick
Some might stand above that
Numbers, dull worth thought
I control no one
Radio control's dead
Major Tom up creek
Calling ground control, what?
A bitch's slave whore port control weak weaponry
Fits the grave floor board to bug dead enemies
Leaflet family branches get madded in lung compartments
Sorry to leave this past my direction, I been ignored
I've seen phones with ceaseless animatronic cature buttons rusted in the on position
Trigger metal detectors at the door
This is for the single maternal figures beaten to the floor
And crawled back for the children and stood up for more
And watched those same kids as adults
Got bullshit vinyl kites call their women whores
Joust with junkies flounce boots with Velcro flunkies
How cute, how to shoot, ball wreckers
Off the record, I took the needle off your record
You spit that feeble plea tell shit that you're hungry
I replied that I didn't find it funky
Enough mechanisms tackle bigger hungers
Without bets in a Billy Crystal sulk moments
I'm open for the exorcism strictly by the prime numbers
To redesign your small wonder