Quality Control

Original

Next, we have a very, very big group by the name of. . .

I like this group. What they do.

Hey, yo.

Hey, -yo. -I like this group. What they do.

Uh, yo.

-Yo. Yo.

-Ayo, my quality control captivates your party patrol, your mind, body, and soul.

For who the bell tolls, let the rhythm explode. Big, bad and bold, B-boys evolve.

Many styles we hold, let the story be told. Whether platinum or gold, we use breath control.

So let the beat unfold, intro on drum roll. We be the lick like Itash and Jay Pole.

We harass like we was the po-po. We can rule the world without Curtis and still blow. Finesse from SP to

Casio. Your jams ain't def, you ain't fresh, you're so-so.

If you don't know us by now, you'll never know. We set that mood when we move and prove a show.

The name of the game is survive and move your dough.

You can't outdig Jurassic syllabical. 'Cause it's survival of professional.

Radio, stop and comprehend and heed the words of a pen. Survival of professional, Poetic Highlanders.

Snoop, you planning rocking something fierce?

Oh, am I. Daki is the name, the AKA Super.

The verbal acupuncture, funky dope old-schooler. I used to be the brother for others they used to dumb on.

Now they be the lovers of brothers they can't front on. Put me in the mix, LP, 12-inch.

SP the elegant, poetic pestilence. I'm carbonated, my fans are confederated.

Highly commemorated and the most celebrated for connecting it.

Word burns subject to the predicate.

Plus, I got the etiquette to keep it moving and show my cats how it's done. 'Cause it's the verbal combat position number one.

We keep it beaming like a beacon.

If it's lyrics that you're seeking, whether Black or Puerto Rican, people back us when we speaking.

We got the kind of rhymes that get you ready for the weekend.

To the mass amount of legions that came for party pleasing. Our temperature is freezing, all kinds of different regions.

The rhythm is the reason you're checking for what we've done.

Please, son, our thesis will rip your crew to pieces. Your rhymes ain't right, homeboy, you ain't ceases.

Ayo, my quality control captivates your party patrol, your mind, body, and soul.

For who the bell tolls, let the rhythm explode. Big, bad and bold, B-boys evolve.

Yo, yo.

Well, it's the angelic man, relic clan repellent. My planned parent manuscripts which stand bullets.

Flashing like a Japan tourist, we command pure hits.

While you criminal understand these contraband lyrics. My fam submits to pray five times a day.

Climbing into your mind with live rhyme display. J5 finds a way to remain supreme.

Coming verbally harder, son, as if my name was Hercule.

Ayo, my team DreamWorks without Spielbergs.

I spill words, communicate from the Earth throughout the universe.

I transmit transcripts, transcontinental lyrics. Deeply rooting the spirit of I love the power of words, nouns, and verbs.

The pen is the sword, linguistic art award.

No folklore or myths in my penmanship. The path of scholar warriors is what I present, uh.

Verbally decapitating those against us. Jihad fi sabilillah, my words make sense.

You gots to get up on your vocab, you gots to have vocab.

Letters make words and sentences -makes paragraphs. -Quality control.

Well, it's Mark Seven to the bitch Daki and the kid.

Producers of the highest quality product.

Cut Chemist, new mark.

Yo, I make the pen capsize, the brother with the planet eyes.

Planting knives every pen that I utilize. Spit juice, crack blood from your tooth.

Inflict -troops, equalize 99 attributes. -Yo, ayo, you baby MCs drink Pedialyte.

While underground doesn't like you, the media might.

But we the elite, we'll change that as we bridge gaps.

In this lyrical grudge match, brothers, we slug -back.

-Yeah, we bless tracks with the help of a raw rap. Imprinted like poor tracks all over your brain rack.

My mental maneuver will clear and steer right through you.

We grand like Puba, understand that we move -you.

-Ayo, my rhythm reveal, roller coaster, -real deal. -Yeah.

I revolutionize, react, and build.

I plant my dreams in the field and wait to harvest my skills. For the starving MC hungry trying to get a meal.

Ayo, my quality control captivates your party patrol, your mind, body, and soul.

For who the bell tolls, let the rhythm explode. Big, bad and bold, B-boys evolve.