Baba Brinkman - Microphone lyrics

This ain't a microphone; it's a microscope It's like a slideshow of my whole life up close This ain't a microphone; it's a microwave Ultraviolet blazes inside this cave This ain't a microphone; it's a microchip A device to flip memory bites through my lips It's nothin' but a mic, though, when I go home It's the cyclone life of the microphone This mic dangles loose at the end of a black chord Like a hangman's noose in front of the dance floor Each night paying dues I stand on a trap door And I'd like to thank the muse at the plentiful rap source ‘Cause my slang and language use is gonna pa** the course So crank the juice and let the energy blast forth I'm gonna be forced to take advantage of this amplification To state my plans for this planet's emancipation I understand if your wastin' away, waitin' for the chance to take an Extended vacation, spendin' your pay-cheque Straight spinnin' in place in a panic, anticipatin' The end of creation; man, I've been in that state and I've managed the transformation to a standing ovation With this mic in my hand facin' crowds of people, just trustin' That we can work out beef with nothin' but speech and percussion Just peaceful discussion and powerful beat production This ain't a microphone; it's a microscope It's like a slideshow of my whole life up close This ain't a microphone; it's a microwave Ultraviolet blazes inside this cave This ain't a microphone; it's a microchip A device to flip memory bites through my lips It's nothin' but a mic, though, when I go home It's the cyclone life of the microphone Weak speakers crack when this mic feeds back Screeches travel through the tweeters jacked up with each pa** And when people react to these unique speech acts It creates an equally fast species of feedback I need that positive twist to write these raps The props that I get increase my peak capacity And my abilities increase the props that I get It's a simple and deep fact of cause and effect When the tree sap's runnin', I ain't stoppin' for breath The only problem is stress and system overload If they're not given proper rest microphones can blow The equipment connected; it's a risk the poet knows And I've got to accept it when I'm kickin' my poems Most are written at home, long before they enter the light Hand printed and typed songs invented at night That eventually might get launched into the mic This ain't a microphone; it's a microscope It's like a slideshow of my whole life up close This ain't a microphone; it's a microwave Ultraviolet blazes inside this cave This ain't a microphone; it's a microchip A device to flip memory bites through my lips It's nothin' but a mic, though, when I go home It's the cyclone life of the microphone I used to suffer ‘mic lust', and drool when I saw them But when I touched and tried to bust, I knew I was rotten So I withdrew from performin' and kept writin' new songs Not the type to rush to rock a mic tattoo on my arm Now I finally feel like I'm just movin' along With no excuses or those wrong-headed abuses of charm That people use to get on stage, replacin' the real Relationships built with microphones based on sk** It's more than just the taste of a meal that makes it appeal It's more than just the shape or the face on the bill That dictates its place in the till or the amount of it Beware of counterfeit poets at shows who don't know how to spit The mic proudly sits above MCs' debates Power-trips and picks out victims like the Three Fates But the system predates the green age of the icon In days bygone poets rhymed without mics on This ain't a microphone; it's a microscope It's like a slideshow of my whole life up close This ain't a microphone; it's a microwave Ultraviolet blazes inside this cave This ain't a microphone; it's a microchip A device to flip memory bites through my lips It's nothin' but a mic, though, when I go home It's the cyclone life of the microphone