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DJ Format
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Rap Machine
DJ Format feat. Abdominal
He-Here's a rough jam for your phonograph? Yes Yes Y'all Uh uh uh yeah!
Bust that! Uh huuh! B-boy scratches, beats and rhymes
Ladies and gentlemen In-Introducing Abdominal
Sit and observe: The microphone mangler, MC Strangler
Ladies and gentlemen, here is your host
Hit the ground munning, every movement calculated
Lethal mechanism, complete with laser calibrated
Precision Abdominal, streamline rap machine
But no need for any gasoline
I run clean fuelled by windpower
An infinite resource, over coursed the valve on, too
Voraciously like an asthmatic spermwhale
My breath the wind, my lung to sail
The deep blue sees be this Format
Beat, over which I maneuver over shores and reefs
We direct on thymes
Disrespecting times
Stretchiiing lines (Giving you a dope rhyme)
Is a bigger sting/big esteem inadequate to argue really gill the same as we're really happenin' here
Calling this rapping milly, more captionatelly
The cassage of appearing on the display anew (You know I'm saying?)
No, Format, there's dust on the wax (The fucking needle, clean it, now put it back) scratch
Ah, thanks for that, Matt, can't you see the ease
With which we communicate seamlessly
Need each other like milk and cereal (Collaborating and make great material)
Cause flipping it accapella makes it a tschord of rap (But I get hype when I write to a Format)
Beat, we come in tighter than venus flytraps (Don't try to front, you know I got the fly raps)
Flyer than a parasinging parakeet wearing para-aviating goggles on his beak
No lies, so fly when I flow by (Some ask the question why?)
To which I have to reply, spoke nurturing nature:
Fucking with Abs, you're flirting with danger
Like Icarus flying too close to the sun (Others hear me, and they don't want none)
Like DJ's: They get their wax as hot as their candles
(But you can't handle the Format Got more soul in their sandals)
And with samples: Move your spinal
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Check the way my madman handles the vinyl
Scratching
Sucker DJ's You ain't got the taste
Sucker DJ's Wha-Wh-What's this
The king of Scratch Nuts, Abs DJ
He's a turntable wizard and no other can match
Format on the two's and ones
Mom's a' rappers are about to lose their sons
Showing for the devastating conclusion
But taking it sounds like seducing nuns
Never happen a clever rapper now gone beat the plan (Now shit's really gonna hit the fan)
We come in tighter than a hamster in the clutches of an under fence -snake
(and when it's over, you'll have a headache!)
Not to mention the gasp of a breath
Cause the atmosphere when I rap is bereft
Of oxygen rocking from the depths of my chest (But if I got one breath left?)
I punch in with the rally that's death
Conclude with the grand finalé, so fresh 'Worldwide'
Fat lady's will sing in unison
B-boys will sally, turn the Puma's in
DJ's 'll stop mixing and scratching, MC's will quit rapping
The graphwriters will have to put the cans down
You'll see smiles on previously sad clowns
Lawyer's will stop prosecuting and defending male prostitutes 'll stop bending
Professors will stop professing
When Roman-Catholics will start confessing
Top executives will stop executing
Electrogears'll quit electrocuting
Government'll stop collecting taxes
The earth will stop spinning on it's axis
Then short: When this rhyme's done
It'll mean the last time's come
So as we sink into the deep blue seas
(Fade down the beat and let the music cease!)
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