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lyrics

My nouns are like a katana, perfectly balanced
My skillset is like lyrical nirvana, respect my talent
My pronouns are like an AR-15, nice and clean
Good enough to stop you and he and she and they and them, know what I mean
My verbs are like an uzi and you can't do me
I'll squeeze and blast, you'll freeze and crash, you see
My adverbs are like an AK-47, lyrical, heavenly
You barely, accidentally qualify as an MC, you aren't like me
My metaphors are an RPG, my mind a skeleton key
My songs a rhyme PhD, you a spelling bee losing flea
My similies are like a lyrical trebuchet
My vocab is large like the national debt, you're more like a lost pet
My conjunctions are like anthrax, you don't make stacks
And you sound whack or like a slacker after losing all battles because you're stuck in bottles
My prepositions are flamethrowers, you're below me
Before you began, you were already behind me, the opposite of plea-sing

Your entire use of language is like a scud missile
You'd be better off trying to kill me with a rape whistle
Your words ain't weapons, you should've kept 'em
Holster your lyrical pellet gun, son, you're done

My interjections are a volcano mine
Uh-oh, uh-huh, oh my, oh well, oops, ouch, ow!
My symbols are like an IED
Flags ain't just for the free, crosses and stars just ain't for me
My alliteration is like chlorine gas
I'll crush your cranium, crash you like you were stained glass, and take your ass to class
My consonance is an Abrams tank
I'm running and gunning, i'll knock your noggin, and take your rank
My assonance is a predator drone
The whole zone blows with flows like gold, you sold some shit, and you need to grow, bro
My hyperbole is like a hellfire missile
Bigger than the Beatles, badder than James Brown, brighter than the sun, son
My metonyms are like the metal storm
My sweat'll get me to a rap Cooperstown, you'll get a pink slip and feel super down
My onomatopeia is is like an atom bomb
Boom, boom, boom, pow, pow, wow, wow

Your entire use of language is like a scud missile
You'd be better off trying to kill me with a rape whistle
Your words ain't weapons, you should've kept 'em
Holster your lyrical pellet gun, son, you're done

credits

from Talking Loud and Saying Something by Professor Rex, track released April 3, 2014
Lyrics: Professor Rex

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about

Revolutionary Exchange Records Washington, D.C.

Trying to be both Chuck D and Flava Flav

My music has been described as "Nerdcore." I'm okay with that.

My rhymes are so dense you're gonna need footnotes.

More pop culture references than you can shake a boomstick at!

Lyrical collage. Intellectual barrage.

And other semi-clever phrases that make me smile and make you think less of me as a human being!
... more

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