Myka 9:

I started running up in hips (hop)
When no other gratification grips like pops
As she rides on tops
I slide up in MPC-3000 slots
My double-density dicks
Behind the popper-stoppers emcees think they can rock (nope)
You think not pop (right)
I think so, stop (true)
Cyclopes tunnel vision, [my clops(?)] erects Pro-Tool robots
Flying faders, just let me fuck with the music and y'all stay stuck with the haters
While I remain sucka free!
A musician is a true player [puppedly(?)] up to kiss the mouthpiece
Outreach, touch my instrument, deep throat my reed
Plant my musical seed to breed, pure in the savage beast
On the average streets, pornographic heat
This nigga Myka on the mic, laugh at defeat
Dyslexic math, anorexic wrath
Decrepitly, intrepidly, you heavily pushing quick to an exit path
From the virus, Osiris, sear us
High me on iris, I'm in raw, beyond mere common law
Why kneel on computer stool? Is Peter Norton your highness?
Facilitating your utilities
The sinus, dry-mucus membranes of a black hacker
Wannabe keyboard cracker
Looking for process speed
Surfing junk food snacker
Unearthing multidimensional possibilities
I'm well respected and stand stern while you sing more fowler than Howard Hewlett-Packard
IBM Mr. Macintosh
A build power, a little coward we gonna do it, I'm a hardware jacker
Apple hats, still flossin' Wallabees and cyber projects
He's a software wacker
I trash programs moved by these disk smugglers under BVDs
They even keister DVDs
It's all in the risk of a nonstop juggler
Even within this computer era black man is still a struggler
We all have are struggles and personal troubles, Hubble
Telescopical, topical, tropical
Optical bubbles get burst
Every frame I put my knowledge first in this game and thirst
My throat feels rather parched
Arched doorways of my temple stiff as starch
Stained glass window pane shades like for spectroscopy
I'll march in side-by-side separation [be]for thy kingdom [be]comes a monarch
And the Arc of the Covenant blast
Pass all class for me
I don't give a fuck about bitches passin' me
Gas me in chambers, chastity, famous as majesty
Just to be trusted for tragedy
Wack-ass can be Alaskan pipe-line
Myka 9' loins flipping queens like coins for heads and tails in hell
You settin' up web page, chain letter
Check your email


Lyrics submitted by Lateralus518

Pro Tool Robots song meanings
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    Lyric CorrectionThis is not an instrumental song. These are the lyrics.

    Myka 9:

    I started running up in hips (hop)
    When no other gratification grips like pops
    As she rides on tops
    I slide up in MPC-3000 slots
    My double-density dicks
    Behind the popper-stoppers emcees think they can rock (nope)
    You think not pop (right)
    I think so, stop (true)
    Cyclopes tunnel vision, [my clops(?)] erects Pro-Tool robots
    Flying faders, just let me fuck with the music and y'all stay stuck with the haters
    While I remain sucka free!
    A musician is a true player [puppedly(?)] up to kiss the mouthpiece
    Outreach, touch my instrument, deep throat my reed
    Plant my musical seed to breed, pure in the savage beast
    On the average streets, pornographic heat
    This nigga Myka on the mic, laugh at defeat
    Dyslexic math, anorexic wrath
    Decrepitly, intrepidly, you heavily pushing quick to an exit path
    From the virus, Osiris, sear us
    High me on iris, I'm in raw, beyond mere common law
    Why kneel on computer stool? Is Peter Norton your highness?
    Facilitating your utilities
    The sinus, dry-mucus membranes of a black hacker
    Wannabe keyboard cracker
    Looking for process speed
    Surfing junk food snacker
    Unearthing multidimensional possibilities
    I'm well respected and stand stern while you sing more fowler than Howard Hewlett-Packard
    IBM Mr. Macintosh
    A build power, a little coward we gonna do it, I'm a hardware jacker
    Apple hats, still flossin' Wallabees and cyber projects
    He's a software wacker
    I trash programs moved by these disk smugglers under BVDs
    They even keister DVDs
    It's all in the risk of a nonstop juggler
    Even within this computer era black man is still a struggler
    We all have are struggles and personal troubles, Hubble
    Telescopical, topical, tropical
    Optical bubbles get burst
    Every frame I put my knowledge first in this game and thirst
    My throat feels rather parched
    Arched doorways of my temple stiff as starch
    Stained glass window pane shades like for spectroscopy
    I'll march in side-by-side separation [be]for thy kingdom [be]comes a monarch
    And the Arc of the Covenant blast
    Pass all class for me
    I don't give a fuck about bitches passin' me
    Gas me in chambers, chastity, famous as majesty
    Just to be trusted for tragedy
    Wack-ass can be Alaskan pipe-line
    Myka 9' loins flipping queens like coins for heads and tails in hell
    You settin' up web page, chain letter
    Check your email
    oaklandnativeon August 25, 2011   Link

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