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work it out - fiyablasta 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
sucker 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
suckers 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 p-sses, 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 suckers 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 m-ssacre, 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!lls
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 b-tter, rap is chocolate, you’re not piece of the reese’s
well my flow is peanut b-tter, ’cause i’m definitely the wrapper
and your lyrics are cr-p, so you must be the cr-pper
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 p-ss out…

- fiyablasta lyrics

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