| The Human Orchestra
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| Straight come to a revolution, right here
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| Uh-huh-huh, uh-uh.
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| Who got the sound you like, with the sound that’s right
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| Quick to say what, say what you like
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| That’s right, I’m turning around again
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| Cuz when I stop the flow, yo, you couldn’t breathe
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| Choose any one of my styles, and my foul supportin' off of you
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| I fell ten stories, with the venacular
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| Life Force, flowin' off the Human Orchestra
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| My structure, could puncture, lyrical monster
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| Find that ass layin' in a dumpster
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| Obi-Wan, he couldn’t show me how to master
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| Mindtricks, I show Kasuki, eatin' sushi
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| Spittin' loogies, gettin' groovy, watchin' a movie
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| Spirit choose me, to excersize my exorcist
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| Spine tinglin', minglin', phantom linguist
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| Disappear, reappear, I’m smooth as cashmere
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| In light years, and travel through the stratosphere
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| So here I go, here I go, equip with the high pro glow
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| No one knows the sickening flows, for wicked foes
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| I kicks it yo… from MIDI to SMPTE, I run on, look at your bloody nose
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| Gettin' you tipsy, like ten shots of whiskey
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| Rotisserie, three sixty, til you crispy
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| I toss it flow by flow, just like a frisbee
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| I’m gettin' busy, you gettin' dizzy
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| Gillespie, seizure’s like epilepsie
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| Homes, I’m layin' my hat, just like a gipsy
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| I bless me, let’s see, if you can test me
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| By what speed perky, like itty bitty titty commitee
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| Honey, no bra’s in the vicinity
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| And I ain’t tellin' no fibs, like whatever kid
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| You see the look in my eyes, you think I did a bid
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| Me on the track -- is like asexual
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| Reproduction, something from nothing
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| Eyes prayin' off like a falcon, boy, yea
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| Don’t make me have to get the scalp and boy
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| Bring food for the malnorished, ready to publish
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| Cuz half of the top emcees, is spittin' rubbish
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| I’m on a mission kid, like a 85th track head
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| Fiended out in a route, that’s never talked about
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| There I go, there I go, hallucinagetic rhyme control
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| Rock ballads like I was Solid Gold
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| Who on a roll, gang control
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| Surfin' the globe, out of control
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| Ripped her up, until your toes curl
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| I get down and wordy, you heard thee
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| You know it’s scrapped up, dirty, like she don’t use toilet paper
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| Small enough to fit through a key hole
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| And run up on that ass for them rhymes you stole
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| Slit ya wrist, like a tongue twist
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| Say no massa kiss, sackin' for hits and percents
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| The infinite, holdin' your breath, it’s tryin' to come quick
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| Spinnin' verse, dispersin' rapidly
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| Half hazardly, ten shots, where all the bastards be
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| Go get the suburbans and the hurses
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| Whether I’m here or gone, I travel through these verses |