TrakkBlazers - Work it Out lyrics

Intro: Hey, thanks for joining me on my daily lyrical workout! Verse 1: I work it out, work it out on the microphone Feed me beats like you give a dog a bone More like a wolf 'cause I'm on the prowl And it's my night, so hear me howl (HOO!) My instincts on the mic seem so primal 'Cause I'm a native in the game so you call me tribal Don't call me god, but I got a lyrical bible So I apologize to God when you say I'm your idol Never trifling, but I am stifling Emcees with the accuracy of a sniper rifle and Excite them with the heat I represent But now you're sweating so I'm guessing that was evident You sick of the others, 'cause I got that medicine Just don't overdose; we may not revive you from the dead again Oh you pressing those charges of lyrical manslaughter? Or did the President catch my songs crossing the border (You're out of order, Fiyablasta!) Yep! Like a toilet 'Cause you can't flush me out the game and I won't let you spoil it 'Cause you're the fungus among us destroying hip hop's image I'm Neutrogena getting rid of the blemish This is it! It's on and popping No stopping the man rocking on the beat knocking I'm shocking the fools, breaking bones and rules and barriers Doing it flyer than air carriers with them hot rhymes the more the merrier There's enough to bury you s**er emcees want to try me, I'm daring you You're not scaring the beast about to feast 'Cause I've been unleashed And I ain't eaten enough beats So I'm moving on to the weak Sheesh! Moving to the top of the food chain And I could change the game's color like a mood ring Or be like Wu-Tang and let cash rule me But that mindset as the next king would make me unruly Chorus: I work it out, work it out on the microphone You work it out, work it out on the dance floor (Repeat) Verse 2: Now I know my microphone must be tired 'Cause I haven't given it a break since it's been hired While I get raised, let me give you tip If you listen to my flows, your vacation will be head trip So from now on, I'll call me fans headless 'Cause I noticed that my flows leave them breathless Don't sleep on me, 'cause I ain't no bed rest 'Cause I'm always on the microphone leaving you restless s**ers that wanna test this man faces a nightmare 'Cause they wake colder than them polar white bears With rhymes so clean, they're whiter than the Ku Klux Klan And priceless making your songs worth two bucks man But I continue to make that two bucks change 'Cause I had to make those lames change so I could play in the game By Dig Dugging their resting places in the dirt 'Cause I taught the people they were speaking nonsense like Q*Bert You heard the absurd words that they slurred And I observed them above like a bird They say they're sick of me, but I got the bird flu And them saying they're as sick as me end up eating bird poo Who? Who can be a fly As the dragon who's smashing all the other guys? And every beat he pa**es, he devours? And also known to spit flames for hours? The minutes fly by you just like seconds When I grab the M-I-C and start to wreck it And after the wreckage, you still want seconds So that has me beckon the next beat to be a hit record This pro mic checker never downgrades his level So you can always dig into it; better have your shovel Turn this song up, yup, to the highest decibel While I crush these s**ers just like numbers to the smallest decimal Chorus: I work it out, work it out on the microphone You work it out, work it out on the dance floor (Repeat) Verse 3: I'm so sick that 50 rappers die when I cough So when I spit this heat, millions of lives are lost So after this ma**acre, the world's destroyed in my flurr Did I say flurr? well, I meant flare But I don't curr because of my flair And it's because of my flurr, that you don't care 'Cause I'm not Right Thurr, I'm what's Hot in Herre And it's my Midwest Swing that makes you say, "Oh yurr!" Wordplays with the rhythms I use On beats waiting for me to burn like a fuse Can't diffuse this bomb and you also can't escape 'Cause I heard my talent blows everybody away Now the other rappers hate and they have an outrage 'Cause I heard I'm making history books and they got a paragraph on a page It said, "The others give me headaches and Fiya's my Advil." Which is why I can explain: I got mad sk**s I rip it up like I got anger issues And tear weak rappers apart like cheap tissues They're not Kleenex 'cause I am the cleanest Like Lysol with flows smelling fresher than Pine-Sol I'm branching out to the top like the game's a palm tree Right now there's a lot of nuts up here; it's Coconut Country But if you split from Banana Republic, you're still a monkey That wants to join me, but you should make a nation called Funky 'Cause your chances reaching the top stink and your rhymes are feces I'm peanut bu*ter, rap is chocolate, you're not piece of the Reese's Well my flow is peanut bu*ter, 'cause I'm definitely the wrapper And your lyrics are crap, so you must be the crapper Excuse moi, excuse my french, I guess I'll change the topic To why my songs cannot be wood 'cause you certainly can't knock it I must say that it has got to be concrete 'Cause this is concrete evidence that these are rhymes you cannot beat Chorus: I work it out, work it out on the microphone You work it out, work it out on the dance floor (Repeat) Outro: Man, I think I'm gonna pa** out...