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by Tonedeff

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Space 01:59
"Space" Written by: Tonedeff Produced by: Deacon The Villain ©2001 QN5 Music (ASCAP) There is space all around us/ Space that occupies the length of the sky from the ground up, It abounds and astounds us/ Space that we just can’t wait to eliminate when we’ve found lust/ And the very thing we pray for when our mates are starting to hound us/ The sound of space silent, and breaking the speed of sound is violent/ But it’s necessary to crack the atmosphere to find it/ There’s Space between cars when you’ve sped in the streets that should never be breached or you’re dead and deceased/ There’s even space between Letterman’s teeth/ You’d better increase the space between us/ Cause personal space invaders get their gender planets switched from Mars to Venus/ Banished into uncharted regions, sandwiched between millenniums/ Challengers get brandished as wasted space like their perineum’s/ Space is at a premium, so guard your place/ It’s hard to take a harsher fate, than cats jacking your parking space/ Your car’s displaced, and I fit in where I can, and if you’re a guy/ Your petitioning women to fill up the space between their thighs/ And I’ve realized that space is what makes safer sex/ Relying on rubbers that won’t break or stretch, to place your bets/ I raise the question and most heads will take a guess/ Why? Cause most cats ain’t smart enough to be Astronauts, but make amazing Space Cadets/ I’m acing tests, cause I’m known perform with grace/ Scorching ‘em over breaks – my mind serves as my lyrical storage space/ I’ve scorched the bass drum, and I’ve spared snares when the board’s recording/ My big bang theory states that space got more suns than George Forman/ I’m tormenting rappers that are 2 faced cheaters/ Claiming their block is hot, but only with the power set to max on their space heaters/ The waste they feed us is alarming/ Their CDs are overpriced like living space in lower Manhattan apartments/ There’s space in a coffin, for your remains to be rotten/ Space that is made of stars, and space that’s contained in a carton/ Space in this game for those willing to suffer pain/ Space for a new thought to stuff in your brain/ (red)*But there’s no space in my FUCKING name/*
Detonator 02:08
"Detonator" Written & Produced by: Tonedeff ©2000 QN5 Music (ASCAP) V1 I am the epitome of mentally fit lyrical wizardry/ Fear the ability, making miracles appear to you vividly/ With an affinity within me willing to deal every enemy penalties/ You’re over the line, cause you crossed me like symmetry/ You’re that pussy, cat that’s finicky like Morris/ Serving ya’ plate, but every inning you’re scoreless/ Making ya’ day like Doris, I’ll put you away for good like storage/ My formula’s more of a sure thing than a whore It’s:/ Shorten your life-span with a verse and a chorus/ I’m certain to floor kids, the minute I rip the curtains before us/ Asserting the forces of nature, burning ya’ forest/ Even hurling sterling performers twirling towards the camera lenses of discerning tourists Observing the horrors, as they take it all in like porous surfaces/ Spurting these murderous lyrical scourges/ Cause I’m a purist and you’re TRIFE life is purposeless/ Just give it up, like slutty mannequins, you’re a fake fuck/ It seems you lost all your sense like Helen Keller going bankrupt/ I’m pitch shifting, making your facial display change up/ Detaching your superfluous pieces like pay stubs/ You didn’t take nuff precaution/ Stepping to Tonedeff is like calling out Irish motherfuckers in Boston/ I’m hunting you down for goodwill, my game is out there/ You couldn’t rock in your grandma’s house chair/ My syntax rearranges your flesh like skin grafts/ The odds of you winning are slimmer than Ally McBeal on Slimfast/ You’re like them other actresses/ I’m tighter than 4 virgins in solitary confinement with hymens as THICK as rubber mattresses/ With asses split to make a perfect fit- like a cock in you/ I only play your shit to remind me what not to do/ I’m executing verses you thought were impossible/ From the JUMP, you were merely a hoppable obstacle/ Stick ya’ like Popsicle’s, in lines you stand in back of me/ On tracks, you couldn’t bust a nut while a slamming a hammer in the Planters factory/ I’m seedier that your papi, you’re a flower, son/ Your hour’s come in a plastic bag, just watch me devour some/ Your delusions of power’s done, cause each and all believe you need to fall/ So, I be torching up ya bleeding walls like Seton Hall/ Deleting beats and knocking your skull into a handy coffin/ So don’t be shocked when you’re the man on the moon like Andy Kaufman/ You’ll be deader than Bambi’s mom when/ The brush went up in smoke, you’re shit’s cheesier than the state of Wisconsin/ Yo, fate is a consonant/ Cause, “AE!!”, I-O-U nothing, you’ve just been ‘disem-voweled’ as I’ve been rocking shit/ You know the difference between you and a dog’s life?/ Yo, Eventually with training a dog’ll be nice.
Spanish Song 03:58
"Spanish Song" Written by: Tonedeff Produced by: Domingo ©2000 QN5 Music (ASCAP) V1 Ayo, Im playing knick-knack patty knock a beat the fuck out/ rejecting cats faster than gay kids bounced from the cub scouts/ Tossed from the front door of the clubhouse, like, “Whats up now?”/ Scour the grout off they feet and making em walk the rough route/ Im sick of niggas wearing Sean-John, always puffed out/ Hogging mics, acting retarded, just like Forrest Gump sounds/ So, if these rappers wanna bust rounds, I’ll have a field day/ I’m always in-zones when I touchdown, compton to bucktown/ Pounding the scrubs, How in the fuck your stuff counts?/ When Verbs is on witness protection, after hearing how I snuffed Nouns/ Stalk a circus and hunt clowns… If you’re smoking/ Tonedeff causes emphysema, and will ultimately turn your lungs brown/ And that’s my recommendation, I’m saving ya’ from deterioration/ By making replacements for inferior baseman/ Players that never could play at the game they were placed in/ Checking the roster for their names, just to discover that they were scraped in. V2 Yo, I cross cultures like puzzles of words/ All y’all nickel & dime MCs are better off smuggling herb/ The minute I mutter a verb, I spark infernos/ I should be locked up for fucking kids like I was Mary Kay Latourneau/ You saying there were no… Witnesses/ Quick… if this hypocrite fibs a bit, kick his shit in and just get the whip and a hypnotist/ I’ll finish him with a little lyrical hit and then stick em and spit in his liquor with gin in it till he’s admitting it/ Y’all wack rappers are just effiminate/ If eating dick’s la vida loca, y’all niggas is living it/ So, Come ON!!, no need to do the arithmatic/ This kid is just sick, so, Heads up, peep my single Ridiculous/ I inconspicuously wow brothers, without studders, Leave sounds smothered/ You couldn’t come to grips with cow udders/ Like proud mothers, I brag with the best of em/ Ask your man what score he got after Mr. Deff tested em. V3 If you’re the champ, hand over the fucking title now/ More rules than a cider house, pay me the proper respect… just close your eyes and bow/ Its show and tell ya better hide your style/ Im trying to separate the wack from the weak and I cant seem to divide the pile/ Stop grinning or I’ma strike ya smile/ Like lawyers strapped with time bombs, you’ll never survive the trial/ Cause I’ll defile ya name, card your ass and swipe ya file/ Bitch, Im the river of venomous flows that spiked the nile/ Despite denial, some rappers are never happy/ Yelling and shit with no email addresse talking bout get @ me/ Dog, I’m serious, with handhelds Im shouting out, like Nextel/ Don’t need a copy of Microsoft Office to EXCEL/ WORD. Im making these power points like Bill Gates/ Cause yo, if tone is recorded on chrome, its instantly the Ill Tape/ You know Domingo makes the real breaks/ Your mother said “Guanabana”, when I asked her how the dillz tastes.
"The Tonedeff/Logic Project" Written by: Tonedeff & Logic Produced by: Logic ©2000 QN5 Music (ASCAP) Tonedeff – Verse 1A I snap wack rappers in half like they was a stack of crackers/ Till the animals they’re crafted after, be laughing at ya/ Blasting ya bastards, cause it’s for certain/ Your skills are a figment of your imagination like Tyler Durden. Logic – Verse 1B Whatever happened to qualified lines written down with mental quality/ I renamed your style pet-peeve because your shit just fuckin bothers me/ Don’t bother coming back, with your weak thoughts, I’m outta body/ I ripped em outta your skull with my one-handed lobotomy. Tonedeff – Verse 1C Here’s an affirmation, I’m leaving your ass thrashed with lacerations/ Voraciously masticating, you waste half of your dates while masturbating/ Placing your severed in front of an assassination station/ So that day to day you’ll Face decapitation. Logic – Verse 1D You can’t stop, top me, or even rock me/ I don’t believe in fuckin’ crews, I even beat the guy who brought me/ You stop me? Now that’s some shit that fucking shocks me/ Send your girl to ride my dick, cause that’ll be the only way you’ll top me, You got me? Logic – Verse 2A My dick’s bigger than Mandingo, I swing with a fandango/ Banged a one-legged retarded bitch in a Durango, just to catch a different angle/ Angles angel different in competition, exposing your styling all bare/ Cause even your shittiest flows has got your rhymes running scared/ Sometimes I can’t bear to witness the multitude of mediocrity/ Running repetitive schemes making hip-hop a total mockery/ But awkwardly, I welcome the weak when they’re all coming/ Cause in competition, I house more niggas than if my name was Mr. Drummond. Tonedeff Verse 2B Can I take you out? Probably. Make you take wrong turns like when Whitney decided to marry Bobby/ You’ll get hooked up, then get fucked early like girls that fornicate/ I come off like loose promotional stickers on porno tapes/ The head to coronate/ With flows so organic that plants are green with envy, just how the hell you think they chlorinate/ No chemicals needed to formulate/ Challenging calendars to tic-tac-toe’s the only way that you can score a date. Logic – Verse 3A I hear you crying with pleading, but your times up like a lease/ What? Jealous cause I move crowds like Riot Police? Bitch, stay at ease, and back off my mic please/ Cause you seem to be giving my beat some kind of fucking disease/ You trying to step to me? Like you’re the main feature? Like bad audio email, I’ll ignore ya and delete ya/ Then I’ll beat ya, I mean, like, Just BEAT ya and defeat ya/ In front of your friends and family watching helpless from the bleachers/ Yea, I spoke to all your teachers, went over your notes in your pad/ And The part where you were speechless…best rap that you had/ I wanted to respond, I just didn’t hear what you said/ Rhymes with expiration dates on em, I mean, your shit is so dead/ That in the middle of a battle, in your rhyme deliberation/ You’re gonna need that kid from 6th Sense for translation/ Now, follow these directions, go to your rhyme at the top/ Switch to delete, cause you’re a bitch. Tonedeff Verse 3B To grasp fame you clutch performers/ You gotta take scissors to almanacs of your street to cut corners/ Weak MCs on my lunch order/ In the winter you bitches lips are my certified nut-warmers/ The oral emancipator, Formative rants that paved the way For an advance decay of exorbitant wack pervaders/ Through attacks for haters, Flows are the active agents/ Blindfolded fast breaks just to show you horrible stats later/ There’s no surprise here/ I’m Tonedeff but with fully functional fingers, tongue, and nose, eyes… ears/ Like college kids buy beer, it’s a given/ That nobody else can flip it when Logic & Tone is rippin/ Assaulting your bitch to hit the shit with ease/ I’m rocking it HART, never skipping a beat—-even when I sneeze/ With no FEAR of amateurs/ I’m prepping the pop world for combat like giving Britney Spears in Africa.
"Battle Rhyme Hookers" V1 This here is like Rosanne winning the lotto… beating me? Fat chance/ You couldn’t flip shit, with a turd and a spatula doing a handstand/ In a gravity chamber, lacking with the lame attack you’re rapping back with/You’re stepping to Massive flames to find you’re made of Plastic/ You get your Ass whipped, like donkeys to discipline/ You SUCK, you’ve been harassing your mother for sip her tits again/ The think-speed of my mind is blistering/ But, you’re slow in the head, like niggas fishing for sharks in Lake Michigan/ I’ll twist your skin with some verbal conditioning/ Cause me squishing your head is easy like tricking bitches in Switzerland/ You’re wishing when you think you’ve stuck me spitting/ You could put a hole in my paper and you still couldn’t fuck with my writtens/ Nigga, you’re sweet like puppies and kittens/ You milk wackness like Bad Boy uses Biggie tapes to keep Puffy in business/ I shutter your senses, whenever I mutter a sentence/ With more oral reconstruction than could ever come from a dentist/ Even with pretense, you could never prevent this senseless rhyme chemist From injecting kids so their jaws lock with tetanus infections/ Direct the aggression you’re tempted to threaten me with and battle yourself/ Cause expelling my name from your lungs is bad for your health/ I’ve amassed a wealth of trophies from kids who provoked me/ Even Jamaican kids say you’re less of a MON than Poke/ I’m wherever the Gumby, Dammit, chewing impostors/ I’ve even been known to punch lines like Coke sniffing boxers/ I dug nostradamus out of his grave tell me your future/ Said NAS was pissed you stole his style and was coming to shoot ya/ Your crying pleas for help are met with the stone face of Medusa/ You rapping is funny, but I’ll leave you in stitches like sutures/ I’m as equal a threat to producers as I am to Rappers/ Lyrical He-Man, atop of the Universe is where I hold my Masters/ Fuck France, I scream, ‘viva la Tonedeff’!/ Bitch, Your rhyme was out of place just like niggas that’s homeless/ I’ll extort for things that you ain’t own yet/ I’ll stick your head in a freezer for 3 days just to see how cold your toes get/ I bubble with glee when there’s trouble with me/ I got you more weak in the knees than Chris Reeves in SWV/ Pull up a chair as I’m grasping your mandible/ The memory of you existed’s the only thing that’s Intangible/ Tonedeff is actual, living, but really though/ Cause, I’m nastier than 4.000 of them German shit-fetish videos/ More lines than Skinemax got titty-shows/ Just trying to take me down is is like trying to sink a plastic bag of cheerios/ I’m Cereal Killer, stalking Lucky the Leprechaun/ Popped the Porcupine for the Corn he was spitting within his lexicon/ Fucked your girl in the bed you rested on/ I’m gonna get you!!” It’ll be me, the rhythm, and Gloria Estefan/ Emilio ain’t feeling no lyrics you droppin/ You’re getting shot-up like kids in 3D movies in Compton/ Ill psychologically Melt you down like 1 inch candles/ Cause even if you’re a tough guy, you’ll be needing a shrink like Tony Soprano/ Man, oh, man, oh, man… I’m nice/ With volumes of rhymes that knock harder than Jay-Z’s life/ I’ll make your brain freeze twice, like chugging a double slurpee/ In the kiss of the spiderwoman, William couldn’t Hurt me/ Cause you could train harder than subway cars in Dojos/ And I’ll still be makin ya run raps till your heart bursts like your fuckin name was FloJo.
"Mixtape-Medley" DJ Avee We got a Million DMXs, 1000 Jay-Zs/ 100 Eminems and 2 Million Master P’s/ But I differ drastically, Cause whether I’m raping the rhythm is never really a debatable issue…Tonedeff’s official/ Like notary’s that publicly diss you just to list you/ Hit you with a lyrical hysterectomy and off I piss you/ Hard to miss you, Cause you’re the fat jack of wack cats/ I laugh at the fact, my ricochets is the only way you blast back/ Tonedeff has actual tact, whenever I rap I flatten tracks/ Till they match the Manhattan maps they’re drafted on/ I master songs like I was Ace engineering/ Sorry, yo, for scarring your eye… I’d hit your mind, but your face was interfering/ Here in the now is when representation would aid your wasted statements/ Gates are closed and you still wanna ride like Chevy Chase on vacation/ Place your faith in this, Play me Avee, add bass to the mix/ I serve Icebergs when I rhyme, you’re just tasting the tip/ Wait till I get, paid to reject, fakes with the reps taking the checks/ vacant of flow….So, when they ask you if you knew, say you know. Marley Marl & Pete Rock’s “Future Flavas” My rhymes are way past radio, so I’m played last/ I never overwrite, I just keep my original flow and then I save as/ You’re lame as cats that’s kicking the same trash/ I never lose, I’ll go down swinging like Austin Powers in a plane crash/ It’s tonedeff with out the name dashed, I’m killing the space/ With the will it takes to drill your face, and use paste to fill in the blanks/ When Fosse cats deliberate, their autopsies facilitate/ The cops having to pull their dental records from their pillowcase/ I will disgrace cats over iller breaks, rehabilitate with necessity/ And I inundate, most simpletons could never deal with complexity/ A breast to finish the line: A new En-ti-ty/ With more brainpower put in my rhymes than Hannibal Lecter’s dinner recipes/ “Hello, New York”, Domingo excels steady/ We schooling more drop outs than faulty Nextel celly’s/ So, get set ready, my threat’s felt heavy on mics for many/ Yo, I cut to the chase quicker than takin a knife to Chevy/ Intertwined with a bevy of cynical punchlines that I bury/ Behind a flurry of rhymes that carry your mind to very defined comical commentaries/ I’m probably on scary level you never heard before/ I’d serve ya more, But I’m never searching for beef like herbivores/ And Furthermore, When the beats drops – Im shattering speed clocks/ I’m wondering how you say you’re a man when your girl be keeping her knees locked/ I teach shop with Marley Marl & Pete Rock, and we Fascinate/ Cause Tone’s the Flava of the Future, most rappers are after tastes. Phat Philly Yo, I’m known to actually smack silly stacked willy acts really Fast/ Release wax to be scratched with ease by Phat Philly/ Masterfully, cats’ll be smashed to pieces, drastically/ It has to be Tonedeff, for one, so stop asking me/ Im tappin the ass of each, splackably back heavy/ Groupie that’ll swallow happily, gargle with apathy/ The very thought of chastity is blasphemy/ My cavity’s will double the chance to catch a thief, because I got two snatch to eat/ A cunnilingus casualty…Your girl is just another oral tragedy/ The queen of ass, we call the whore your majesty/ Your last complete was rap was screaming fallacy/ I’m blabbin to seep calories, and on the average b, you speak for salary/ ACHOO! Your wackness feeds my allergy/ It’s naturally a travesty, my Mic’s Benadryl and this track’s my Tavist-D/ It’s sad to see, a rappers passively not attempting to badger beats/ While Tonedeff is treating the BPM savagely. DJ Blowout’s “Verses Vs Beats” [aka GRADIENT] I’m spitting the verses that’s calamitous, scandalous/ Slanderous, cancerous… Half of this master list/ Of adjectives is smacking kids with accurate attacks That get Disastrous as I get faster with immaculate patterns it’s/ The consequence of dominance, prosperous, prominence/ Common sense will bop you into compliments For rocking this accomplishment with consonants/ I’m in this boxing shit to knock comp outta consciousness/ I got the evidence, intelligence, incredulous precedence/ With a set of prints, tested with the best equipped of instruments/ Forget your prejudice? When Tonedeff is blessed with the remembrance element of an elephant?/ I’m obligated, concentrated, contemplative, beyond creative/ Not elated by the way you’ve propagated plots of hatred/ Complicated topics state The way that I operate is just properly consummated/ I’m the correlator, story sayer, formulator extraordinaire/ Performing where the norm is their adored heir/ I storm in there with a morbid flare and not a soul to spare/ Reforming, repairing and restoring the air/ Cause I be tearing it down, wearing the crown, pairing the sounds/ Comparing the nouns I’m staring ya down, with nary a frown/ I’m sparing ya town, I’m taking you clowns to burial grounds, and scaring you out/ I vary the bounds in preparing lobotomies out of the kit that I carry around/ I’m really astounding, knocking you out ya gord/ Fishing for compliments, bored… Reeling your eyeballs off of the floor/ Via various lures, never seen wackness as scary as yours/ Via Marriage or heritage, Kid, I hope your very insured/ And really be sure to leave your will to match/ This is verses vs beats, you’d probably think I’d share top billing with plants/ Marching like militant ants, You ain’t heard Tonedeff?/ It’s been a long time coming like non-lickable, stickable stamps/ I don’t fiddle with rap, I’ve had it with these rappers/ I kill combos, cause I insert razor blades into cheese crackers/ Disaster strikes with lyrics and beats factored/ I’m exorcising the devil out of the beats to keep active.
Manifest The first miss is that you listen, the second’s in suspicion/ The third is rhyme addiction, whenever I be spittin/ I’m flipping better flows. I think in decibels/ This is the desert and you’re stupid wearing leather clothes/ Don’t get it twisted bitch, I’m good at evil shit/ Walk up in a church and make a preacher scream out ‘Holy Shit!’/ This niggas triple-six, but the reverse of it/ Slaughter tracks sorta like the murders commited by Berkowitz/ Devoted vocalist, overflowing explosive poet riffs/ Don’t play or beef with me, lyrics come to me easily/ Sporadically transmitting freestyles, telekinetically/ I burn heat with 3rd Degree emergencies, Urge Mcs with Urgency/ Wage a whimsical war of written words with me/ Prefer to eat the weak verbally/ Speech is refered to as unique verbal surgery. LouCipher It’s LouCipher, cast out of heaven for throwing power trips/ You need a graphing calculator to count the amount of clowns I rip/ Cause once the instrumental drops, it’s obvious the heads’ll bop/ And your mind will get molested like an unsuspecting alterboy with a dirty priest in the confession box/ Cause any amount of bars with no hook will leave your flow shook/ You couldn’t come across a dope rhyme if you jerked off on my notebook/ This Fallen Angel, stronghold affiliate/ Will make even the hardest rapping thug look like a silly bitch/ Always killin it/ And you must’ve lost your sense of touch if you ain’t feeling it/ A Strongholder of Mics the second I grab it/ I’ll stab your ideas till your thoughts are laid out in a casket/ You;ve just been decapitated, put the fucking head in a basket/ Don’t incite my wrath/ Your writtens are the shit, cause I used em to wipe my ass. PackFM Yo, It’s PackFM and strongheezy, roll like dice that’s in monopoly/ Game like Parker Brothers, niggas ain’t coming as properly/ You ain’t on to that? Then, you gots to be… Fuck your thoughts of battling me/ Forget about it, bout it, there’s no limit to my masterpiece/ This nonsense has to cease, cause Pack’s a beast on the loose/ Whippin kids like child abuse, once I put my style to use/ Steppin’ to me with an excuse is useless, cause I’m too slick/ Styles are ruthless, leave you with no use for toothpics/ My title’s undisputed, but right now, I’m at my peak/ Every bar that I freak opens doors like Dominique/ The rhymes you kick are kinda weak, Definition of obsolete/ You never felt this kinda heat, find my style hard to freak/ Next time you feature me, you’d better put this shit first/ Cause cats will skip through the whole CD just to hear my verse. Tonedeff I’m cursing any available rhyme-merchant/ So, try purchasing 9 verses of my verbal assertions, turning your words worthless/ Tonedeff with Stronghold? That’s like, Damn! No words to describe this/ Even Bob Barker knows that it’s priceless/ Time to ignite this, I claim know things/ And your Flightless, like an being Ostrich on a plane with no wings/ Cause we be the bilingual flow kings/ They won’t allow me in battles anymore cause the clubs I hit are non smoking/ I be thought-provoking, spit at pop-filters until they soaking/ Leave wack emcees HOPPING mad like sapos screaming COQUI/ I blow the fucking house down in one PUFF/ Regardless of how I sever hearts, it’s One Love/ Concealing my skills is a Tough Bluff/ Like playing the poker with a straight face, with aces being the only cards that come up/ Your whole crew is dumb-fucks they trying to front with they guns up/ It’s all peace, but in prom night fashion they get done up/ I play for 1-Ups, but don’t march to the drum of fate/ If I got one life to live, then I rob cats for the other eight/ And count it down, 1-2-3-4-5, The illest underground hip-hop, we bring it to you live/ For 2000 Milleni-I, it’s like that/ If this shit is off the chain, fuck it y’all, we stole the bike-rack.
"Napster Anthem (f/ PackFM)" Written by: Tonedeff & PackFM Produced by: Public Enemy ©2000 QN5 Music, FMania Inc. (ASCAP) Tonedeff From Napster to Rapstation.com/ T the Internet’s equivalent to a dropped bomb upon the distribution industry/ It fits the fusion, feel the synergy/ With MP3 Music Communities; not even meters can limit me/ There’s no boundaries with this, The means finally exist/ Cause there’s no ceasing to the sounds that people get/ And I resoundingly admit, I dress a track like vinaigrette/ They’re wishing they could go back to when Napster Wasn’t invented yet PackFM Well, let me interject with intellect, catch me on the Internet/ On or off-line, a floppy disk or cassette/ I’ll address the rap nation, napster to rapstation/ The industry’s full of dicks, I cut em off like castration/ They’re catching hissyfits, in actuality it’s flattery/ I searched napster to download this…now you cats are mad at me? For you a hard drive is a ride without a chauffeur But it holds all your tracks for your fans in Manitoba/ “Where the fuck is Manitoba?”/ Don’t you know that little town in West Bumblefuck where the net is your only form of exposure?/ This shit is far from over, damn right I’m a downloader/ You should change your names to story, cause yo, I thought I told ya. Tonedeff Tommy Matolla makes a million a minute, if you see him/ Start grilling him in his BM for stealing our listening freedom/ He’s disagreeing with Napster – acts to block it/ But notice, the only artists complaining seem have the fattest pockets/ It’s sad and shocking, the way that greed controls nation/ If a track is lent to me, it’s not a legal violation/ My summation’s they build an absurd case/ Cause to make an MP3 of a track I need the CD in the first place/ PackFM I don’t care who you are, I’ll battle ya, from Dre to Metallica/ Your shit got leaked, cause I got an email from a pal of yours/ Shit, I ain’t mad at ya. I shine like an Arista/ MP3’s the biggest thing since a pokemon character/ So, I log onto Napster to take a Peek-At-Choo/ This is a sneak preview, passed on from me to you/ From PCs to G3’s it’s the sound of the streets/ Rapstation & Napster, Power to People and Beats. CHORUS Who’s on line, the greatest of all time/ We Reach millions of heads although we’re unsigned/ You can download our tracks, we don’t mind, just take 2/ On behalf of Napster, we’d like to thank you/ You’re welcome, We’re all part of the same crew/ Tonedeff & Pack FM, we came to lace you/ You can download our tracks, we don’t mind, just take 2/ On behalf of napster we’d like to thank you.
Written & Produced by: Tonedeff ©1999 QN5 Music (ASCAP) V1 Through the pages of tall tales and short stories/ I was systematically given by Dewey my own category/ As surely as it was written the chapters were satisfactory/ I’m booking niggas that’s claiming they’ve got a stack for me/ My raps are purely worded with allegories inserted/ Fuck with your hearing leaving one of your senses perverted/ Make sure you heard it. Rarely averted my verbal array will slay the barely assertive/ So get Judy to judge and spare me the verdict/ No matter how you interpret the letters, regardless of translation/ You’re illiteracy shows like Babylonian aggravation/ From lack of communication, sound barriers get broken/ Whether written or spoken, I turn-styles without a token/ Cause the way I coin a phrase will rapidly anoint the stage/ or vocal session, in every direction, let me point the ways/ By way of my index, I pretend like I’m in text/ So, I stereotype 6 rappers, and interject 5 spaces to indent/ Then I backspace to erase the last trace of niggas whose tracks waste/ My time. You’ll be last place to the line, due to the fast pace of my mind/ And it takes more than a snake or a swine/ To place me within a backbrace – cause I’m fat, ace, check the weight of my rhyme/ You diggin the slap bass? Trying to figure just how this bitch’s ass tastes/ Was headed for third base, the minute the bitch delivered the gas face/ Like Ants to acid, I burn slower than butter on a tepid gun/ Yo, cause competition is none. V2 Now, you can bring it if you want it. But, be sure to keep the receipt/ Cause when I freak to the beat, you’re bound to get returned/ I seek the heat and set to burn your tape, to let you learn your fate in advance/ But that depends on if you tend to urinate in your pants/ I place demands on small bladders and weak podiatrists/ If there’s a reason I get pissed, then 5 MCs can die-per-diss/ And that’s a quota. You stated that you know the amount/ But you can strike it off the record, cause that shit don’t count/ I end quotes like double apostrophes, put commas in comas/ Make you dash to the doc, while checking your semi-colon for melanoma/ Revoke your diploma, low marks to question me/ Bastardize the alphabet, and ask him which parent he sees/ I use analogies and context clues on occasion/ Find my name’s in tune with Tonedeff, minus the hyphenation/ See, my inclination’s to slash forward and not return/ Cause if I come back, I’ma light you up twice like burned urns/ And pound ya. Cause what you make up is cakey/ I’ll leave you so flaky, you’ll be trying to hit the escape key just to evade me/ But you can’t quit out to safety/ So pay me with your pin-number to sway me away today cause maybe an 80 will dissuade me/ I’ve played the nice guy long enough, I’m charging late-fees/ Can’t fuck with the rhyme, so you’re hiding behind the 9 just like the 8-key/ I create divisions like space bars when you press me/ I’m like a hooker with her period – Fucking with me gets messy. V3 Competition is none, and Tone said it with authority/ Cause competition nowadays is a majority/ Of undereducated niggas delivering horribly/ Swearing they’re more complex than their own inferiority/ And right behind them, There’s sure to be some whore at the local sorority/ Who’s wack, yet her shows are packed formidably/ Now, baby got back, but she’s a bore to me/ Cause she’s a front, like New York bottled water that lacks purity/ My aura be tapped straight from the stream of consciousness/ It’s not often that I’m impressed, so I’m popping your confidence/ At every given opp I get. All I’ll need’ll be a needle/ Some custom instrumentals and just over 30 people/ I’ll surely hurt your ego if you go that route/ I take the low road, but I don’t bow to no man’s clout/ No need to be way-high to express ways to enact this/ I planned the fastest path and ran McNally off the atlas/ And this I’ll practice, even when I be 95, I’ll still be at this/ Globally off-axis, hip-hop madness/ Regardless how the demographics are stacked/ Cause I’m the legend that never got on the map.
"Massive" Written by: Tonedeff & Praxis Produced by: Tonedeff ©2001 QN5 Music (ASCAP) V1 (red)I thought I was paid until I broke the mold/ (red)I spit shit more than an angry lama with a congested cold/ I’m eating rappers like vegetables/ Your mother choked on my cock, my god rest her soul/ (red)Now a moment of silence, please…Rest In peace/ (red)I’m running shit like stepping in piles of dog feces with impressive cleats/ I’m the lyrical teacher testing beats/ Tell rappers to sit the fuck down, like sex in seats/ (red)In a lexus jeep…Hold Up, I don’t own one/ (red)I just looked at your girl and still made her moan some/ Cause that bitch is lonesome, she be sucking on Tone’s thumb/ She thought fucking a bat was the quickest way to a homerun/ (red)Not recognizing her own son, Told you, y’all, she’s so dumb/ (red)She put her clothes in trackmeets cause her pantyhose run/ Um, you’d better respect the flows, dun, your show’s dumb/ Picked your style up in a line-out, and I was like, “Yeah, That’s the Old one”/ (red)Flows nastier than old gum, chewed twice, under the desk/ (red)Don’t try to decide on one of us, cause each one of us, is like one of the best/ Yo, I’m shunning the rest, cause now I be running with Heff/ Your girl likes when I spell my name in cursive with my cum on the front of her chest/ (red)So tired, that I’m hunting for breath…this song? becoming a mess/ (red)Saw your spread in VOGUE, and had to say, ‘What a wonderful dress’/ Tonedeff & Prax make you plunge to your death/ Got my own talk show, and I ask fucked up questions just to befuddle the guests. CHORUS Ayo, we’re massive. We’re so phat there’s no room for your asses/ Tonedeff & Praxis. Tell me, are they nice? PPSSSTTTTTTTT, Don’t even ask it. Tonedeff & Praxis – QN5 Massive. What. V2 Girls around the world be like, “Oh, isn’t T divine?”/ My rhymes are bananas, they play my tracks for Gorillas at feeding time/ (red)This rhyming style is what I redefine/ (red)Give wack MCs lobotomy’s so they don’t even have the piece of mind/ Yo, Prax, this ain’t hannibal… so feed em Mine/ If it’s a dope MC that you want, then, Tonedeff you shall see and find/ (red)Yo do that every freaking time, yo, you make me sick/ (red)You ain’t ill, you’ve been trying to get a deal since ‘86/ Stop talking that crazy shit, the way he spits?/ I wouldn’t be surprised to find “Casino” on one of them greatest 80’s hits/ (red)You’re just a nasty-lazy-bitch, walking with a lady switch/ (red)Using FDS just to cover up that lady-stench/ (sniff) I smell pussy, but you’re the hermaphrodite with a baby dick/ Yo, Prax you like this sweater? Yo, your mama made me this! (red)But, the way she stitched, she blew the design/ (red)The only real reason I rhyme with you is for the free studio time/ What an EP’ll do to your mind, you’re hated by DJ’s/ All you get from QN5 is a free beat and an MP3 page/ (red)You claim to bring the heatwave, I’m here to give it back/ (red)Your shit’s so wack, your whole LP was hidden tracks/ AHHHHHHHHH!! Come on, that’s a wack diss/ Yo, this kid’s a prick, I’ll make him change his name from Praxis to Cactus/ (red)Let me guess, ‘I need Practice, You’ll knock me off my axis/ (red)Skills on the microphone, Praxis clearly lacks this’/ Nah, That shit’s too average, I really hope you rehearsed long/ Because it takes you 12 hours to record a fucking 1-verse song/ (red)Man, I saw you with your purse on, it’s a Gucci impostor/ (red)Man, how you gonna diss the only artist on your roster? CHORUS Ayo, we’re massive, Because I’m phat and Tonedeff’s a fascist! He’ll get his ass kicked. Tell me, is he wack? PSSSSTTT!!, Don’t even ask it. He’ll get his ass kicked – Praxis is Massive, what! Ayo, I’m massive! Cause Tone smashes Praxis the actress/ Tonedeff is massive! Tell me, is he wack? PSSSSTT!! Don’t even ask it/ Prax is an actress – QN5 Massive. WHAT!!
"The Book of the Dead" Written & Produced by: Tonedeff ©2000 QN5 Music (ASCAP) V1 I fought in Egypt with this Tour-guide the other day/ I smoked him, he jetted—Went out like a SUCKER/ You shit the minute that weapon told you my name/ You couldn’t think of HOT lines, even when I’m scorching your brain/ You just won a fortune of pain and embarrassing harassment/ Social disdain Niggas wouldn’t believe your Rhymes if you put Cher in it/ Tearing kids with an arrogant air apparent/ The closer my hands get to your neck, you start squealing just like a Theramin/ I’m squaring in my targets-locking, delivery’s partly shocking/ You could be a geologist and you’d be hardly rockin/ Chicks in a bar be flocking at me exposing their panties/ And gladly holding em open, like you, they hoping to scam me/ Leave you broken and badly bruised, with flows I’m soaking fannies/ Blows are nasty, you’re a whore and a pansy moore than mandy/ Who’s courting for candy and snorting with Brandy/ Your styles flimsier than what Jennifer Lopez wore to the Grammy’s/ Tore your family heritage, your chance of winning 50% less than marriages/ Leave you a vegetable like asparagus/ Pulling plugs outta sockets with hand gestures/ Your voice is annoying it don’t fit like Fran Dreshcer’s/ I be verbally ambidextrous/ With a grip so tight, every word I udder will make a cow attest to this/ Tempestuous energy readily emitted/ Just stepping to me’s a crime and this here is the penalty to fit it/ Transgressions committed are never acquitted/ I’ll bust a nut in your mouth, tell you to rhyme and you still couldn’t spit it/ You’re fragmented like hard drive partition defect/ Don’t even front, you’re just a Mobb Deep audition reject/ Cause I cannot fuckin’ STAND/ When bitches like you don’t have the gull to be yourself when rhyming on a jam/ Trying to sound all Rugged and raw/ But you can reach as HIGH AS YOU CAN you would barely be tuggin’ my balls/ Stunning the hall of famers, and famous niggas that’s remaining nameless/ I’ll shamelessly leave you brainless… the deed is painless/ When I be digging the deepest most heinous basses, your MOTHERS tasted/ Ask your neighbors, cause T-O-N-E is what her maiden name is/ The most jaded of entertainers have stated/ I’m the greatest creative flavor they’ve ever observed or contemplated/ You’ve done the worst overdubbing since Twister/ Kodak could offer home delivery and you still wouldn’t be getting’ the picture/ YOU LOSE! Like Street Fighter Alpha Omega/ Hyper Super Turbo Fighters Zeta Version number 2/ Build 3, Still don’t understand me? I’ll EXILE your style and make you MISS AMERICA like Ali Landry/ Cause you get OUTED like Ellen Degeneres/ Cobras refuse to battle me cause to them my pen is so venomous/ You DEFAULTED to get here, that’s irrelevant evidence/ I’m making sure that Sphinx is reverted back to a Remnant. And that’s only the OUT-OF COURT SETTLEMENT.
"Move In, Ride Out" Written by: Tonedeff Produced by: DJ Rob ©2001 QN5 Music (ASCAP) Chorus: Get ‘Em Up, Now, Gentleman, Wet ‘Em Up Hit Em Up, Now Everyone – Move In Get ‘Em Up, Now, Gentleman, Wet ‘Em Up Hit Em Up, Now Everyone – Ride Out V1 Yo, I hit em up with a bit of a touch/ Of atypical lyrical visual cinema/ When I set up in the thick of the rhythm I get em intox-I-cated/ Its not complicated I made this one of a kind/ Run of a rhyme, to stun or to blind, fly women from the front or behind/ If they stuck in the line, its something to find/ I aint stubborn to spend, but this one brother been, hunting for dimes/ I pluck em in time, the second I get a chance to/ Hittin the backroom, in the mid of the song we dance through/ Bashful? Never That/ High Maintenance? Send her Back/ This track is for the broke as fuck cats with the better raps/ Seven women stacked in our laps/ Figured that we were prized with Kentucky Fried Chicken Dinner Packs/ Is it a fact? Oh Yes indeed/ T successfully brings the best recipe. V2 Yo, we gonna play Rawhide all-night/ I’m bringing the broad pipe just to get your walls tight/ Never see it coming with your foresight/ Loving to leave ya’ quadriplegic like a fall from 4 flights/ I’m more like the type to charm t he hell outta ya/ Why do ya’ wanna assume I play you like a harmonica/ On to the next order of business/ Attraction happens in a fabulous simultaneous instant/ Niggas know what blabbin about/ The second your mind reaches a dime piece, you be thinking of askin her out, With the last of bit of doubt/ Taking the drivers position, never settle for the passenger route/ With an ass that’s outlandish T-o-n-e cant stand it/ This woman even got me speak span-glish/ Baby Tu Eres Sexy! Forget It/ She wasn’t feeling the charge like it was bad credit anesthetic/ No time for feeling pathetic/ When at the spot that’s so hot, the liquor be getting tepid/ I’m sick of getting rejected already this evening/ My team’s steaming cause I’m already fiending to be leaving/ Even now, that I be breathing loud/ I wasn’t peeping how there was girl reaching out/ To take my hand, But when I turned Fate Commanded/ I’m left stranded – (Cock-Block) – I HATE THE MAN! V3 [Beginning Portion Missing From Video] It’s Game Over, restart the system/ Beats spark & blister, whenever T drops the hits/ He tops your list, no stopping this/ Checking the sound for how loud it gets, got your pops knocking fists/ Against the wall, Hence the call for all/ Rappers that pretend to ball to commence to fall/ Eventually you will prolly be stalling for Mom/ To back that ass up, how juvenile of a brawl/ I’m suitable to beautiful tracks/ Due to the fact Im shooting to catch a cutie with back in 2 minutes flat/ Physically Rapture, what your mommy & daddy have manufactured/ Can it get any faster/ Leave it to Brendan Frazier to blast past Ya’/ Ask ya’ dad man your mother be calling me assmaster/ Raps are hazardous/ Tone is a belligerent pacifist, like a pastor’s fist/ But wait there’s more, add the asterisk/ I ain’t leaving the club until I got an ass to hit/ My plans for smashing get tarnished/ Cause there’s nobody left in this piece to get it started/ And I don’t flip for the typical harlot, I’m finicky, never begging’ your pardon/ Knowing I’m sprung whenever a certain part of my anatomy hardens/ I’m honest…Dickin a chicken with an Elektra-magnetic figure ala Carmen/ Goodness, Gracious/ Tonedeff as nice as skies are spacious/ Vivacious… Knock a Hotty liable to fry some ice glaciers/ Rock hard bodies attached to nice faces/ Bras of high weight, or tall with tight waists/ Or Thongs that vibrate in all the right places/ Never hit up the bar for my tastes/ If you’re less shy wasted than buy 9 cases/ Time is wasting I’m chasing the scattered ass/ Contemplating my chance of a latter pass/ At the honey that was taken from me, snatched from my grasp/ That’s it! I’m about to tackle the task/ So, I dash in the path of her man with a laugh/ Just to act natural plus she was mad bashful/ My rap flow canceled her plans, left her man surpassed/ Then I took her to tantra class.
"Kronic Braggart" Written & Produced by: Tonedeff ©2000 QN5 Music (ASCAP) V1 It takes a punk motherfucker to brag, but go figure/ Flow nigga? I’m leaving your bitch with more just 3 holes in her/ Stuff woodchips into your corpse and torture you with a soul splinter/ Blowing over you into the net, like you was a 4 foot goaltender/ Hold ya pen up, I’ll swipe it off with your hand attached, Imagine that/ Your faggot ass is the poster girl for Vagistat/ You’re braggin that you defeated me with a battle rap in a hear me chat/ Stop riding my dick…gimme the fuckin saddle back/ Fast to react, I’m certain to, FACT/ The only pat on the back you ever got was when mommy was burping you/ I burn shit up, give your father a nervous hug/ This shit is just like TLC at dinner the way that I serve this scrub/ My words are much more elaborate than a Persian rug/ Cause I’m more of a novel writer than the author of “To Sir With Love”/ I twirl a thug impostor into pasta/ You got the look, but you aint worth a fuckin word like a speech from Laetitia Casta/ This’ll cost ya much more than a loss, I want your life force/ Tonight, you’re going down for sure, bitch, like a dyke whore/ These high purity viruses, I fight off/ Cause I’m dousing the chronic plague with industrial Lysol/ Twice as raw, cause I pen a sonnet a day/ Richard Simmons told me this commie kronic plague was atomically gay/ In the most astonishing way, I be taking the the fast route/ Battling me, You’re like a frog in a bathhouse, ass out/ I’m reversing the last doubt, that I can smoke you in a conflict/ Amputating your arms so I can poke you in the armpit/ With the sharpest of objects/ You should take immodium AD, because you need to stop that soft shit/ Im encoding the proper topics to cover/ Even started a non-for-profit organization to kill you under/ I chop prison’s in half, and split cells/ Bitch you rhyme like Ricky Martin just stuck his dick in your shit-well/ I wish to dispel, any notion you spit well/ Strap zarbon to a car bomb, spark the engine and excel/ I watched your head swell from your sweetest moment/ With Glamour Shots with an airbrushed t-shirt saying ‘I Beat Tonedeff’ on it/ I deliver the type of flow components that zone in/ Attaching to the weakest host, and then slowly drone till your brain’s imploding/ Controlling your mind to expose you in public/ Cause yo, my style is like a hooker with herpes – Not to be fucked with/ Don’t even attempt to blush, bitch, or even take a stand/ Got you shook, like the Pope and Mohammed Ali shaking hands/ This is the way I land, with minimization/ I am iller than all the kids in the make a wish foundation/ So, fuck a braggin bastard with a massive passion/ Your girl said you come up short with your rhyme schemes and just how fast you’ve lasted/ You bite more than a scrappy mastiff/ I drafted a pack of stationary reading ‘Plague’s a Pussy’ on the masthead/ I’m giving the medical field a new reason to research/ Making your head chatter enough to make your fucking teeth hurt/ Revert and I will come and find you/ Bitch, I will even produce the beat you’ll be saying you battle rhymes to/ A lyrical gift that shines true to blind you/ I would go back and obliterate your atoms if I had the time to/ Everything you’re spitting I strike a line through, like it’s connect the dots/ Fuck a last line. I wrecked your spot. What.
Coffee 03:05
"Coffee" Written & Produced by: Tonedeff ©1999 QN5 Music (ASCAP) V1 Have a cup of coffee, sit back and open up your mind/ Now this type of rhyme was designed to keep writers above the line/ Cause I'll guide us above the swine, and keep the gate up for traitors/ While beats cater to cut-creators and fader operators/ From Decatur to Kendall, the terminator to pencils and pens/ More to the P than the Rentals were friends/ But that be dated like them leaders of cheers be under beers/ I've contracted calendars to number your years/ I put pressure on motherfuckers like 300 lb. Peers/ Like a captain on blank pages, I'm steering clear/ Whether weather's ever severe, I'll bring ya to mass with the classics/ Stopping the wack shit just like naked bitches in traffic/ I'm graphic by design, Illustrated like sports without the swimwear/ Between her wet thighs is where your bitch be feeling my chin hair/ You know I had to go there cause I've been there/ I'll Spice your Girl up, that's what I really really want/ Now, we can talk coffee like Linda Richman/ I'll fold your style, and I'll switch then, take your picture just like I'm Pitman/ Throw in Danny Glover to Crispin, it's all related/ Sank-a titanic crew now their records be inundated/ It's all correlated, everything that I've stated/ I speed up Metabolisms while you be decaffeinated/ Known for leaving ya satiated, I'm delegated/ Representatives in my House ain't thirsty cause I'm Irrigated/ Niggas get irritated, Hate it when I'm elated/ They're pained cause I pull em down more than windows get shaded/ Cause they've evaded the sun and concentrated on the gun/ But if I crack em open-if they're see through, I'll breeze through/ Adversaries that's even tinted. I've got a penance for pennants/ So if you dirty seconds, I'ma clean a minute/ Even though, I'd cream the senate, I still don't PUFF laws/ Or blow out judiciary committees within the city/ And I'm pretty confident, that with these pronouns and consonants/ I'll rapture the heavens and all the seven global continents/ And I'm in this, Breaking up the plates just like some Greeks in Pangea/ Even if they're dubs for the clubs/ And I'm off a level that I even out on my own/ But, I've been known to take it over the top, like Stallone/ So, when the road be getting Rocky and I'm hanging from cliffs/ I'm locking out the daylight, and then I hit 'em with this/ I keep it on and on and, you, it don't stop/ You'd better protect your 7-UP because I'm blowing up the spot/ So, I keep it bubbling, so da niggas'll know the half between the boring and me/ It's cause I got the pep, see? If these kids is rhyming 'bout Coke, then I'ma keep my Tab on 'em/ They can't Dye-it Right, that's why all of the skags want 'em/ I'm icing more niggas at their peaks than a mountain do/ Maintenance at the Fontainebleau's all they're amounting to/ Rip ya to bits for the sake of counting you, leave ya wound in two/ Bounding your throat and make guesstimations about the sound of you/ Doggin', but never hounding you, that's just too easy/ That threatening style of rhyme never appeased me/ So I prefer to squeeze the/ Last drop out of metaphors and similes Like they was a squeegee/ I've got more game than E3, I never saw E.T/ But you I still phone home- Don't fuck around within the Tonedeff zone/ Because you bound to get your whole set thrown, Hoes get stoned/ I'll repossess your shit and then your clothes get loaned/ Cause no army can salvage you when you push me/ I'd lay you out Quick, but that's a bigger turn off than bushy pussy/ So, I spread the fly vibe like eagles with butterknives/ Now you can dissect that line, and three definitions you'll find/ With some repetitions and time, you're bound to catch on/ But those who don't are getting beat by the beast like Gaston/ And lyrically that's the beauty of it… I pull back heads like Pez/ Cause I was hand-picked by Juan Valdez/ Not the number, but the name you call, and I'll be coming when/ You need another cup of joe from the Cuban/Colombian.
Featuring: Substantial, PackFM, Rise, Wordsworth, Wiseguy, AL Skills & Tonedeff Substantial Your majesty, makes casualties of wack emcees/ Catch you off guard like niggas speaking japanese/ Mics I have to seize, I’m Duracell, You’re dollar-store batteries/ With that wackness, please, send your weak records back to the factories/ I shop in Delaware, ain’t nobody taxing me/ Not unlikely, well actually/ We come hotter than big pun, you still don;t sound fat to me. PackFM We’re bananas like a daiquiri, haven’t you heard?/ They say 3 is the magic number, Dominion’s the magic word/ I’m stabbing your nerves with the pens that’s in your pocket protectors/ Blocking you set, knock your head right off the top of you neck/ I’m blocking your tech. Mad malicious, crazy vicious/ Your rhyme was weak as fuck, I thought that you were blowing kisses/ Whole crew got issues. I ain’t got time to diss you/ I’m the shit, Only foes are diapers and Scott tissue/ Competition I rip through. You can’t tear shit/ And the only projects you’ve ever been through…is Blair Witch. Rise I can’t hold a job, because I’m so sick I always call out/ Make rappers shit enough bricks to build a small house/ My records, if they’re all out, buy the mixtape/ I ripped it, unless the DJ screamed over my lyrics/ Nasty, I’ve been called the MAN lately/ Locked up, a ladies man, will turn to a man’s lady/ I heard your freestyles, and all the songs you come with/ You’re not developed, you should climb back in your mom’s stomach. Wordsworth Wordworth’s about to make your whole style plummet/ I got a hundred of different styles/ Matter of fact, I got a hundred of women, that means I got about a hundred of different childs/ Or children, I’ve been building/ Raps are just, be fulfilling my obligations, this is my job and my occupation/ And I’m sorry if I’m rhyming at your own show, then I got you waiting. Wiseguy Hired MCs occupation is to rock the nation/ I’m happy rocking the basement/ Word Up, Cause I don’t need to rock a whole population of small nations/ Three people is enough, cause my rhymes that rough and tough/ I’ll call your bluff, call you up and hang up/ Click! Leave you alone with the phone and the dialtone/ AL Show em. A.L. Skills Now, you couldn’t take me out if you had a chaperone/ What! I kill MCs over the phone/ So, call the fire guards, and red alert/ Cause I kill MCs through your MHz, my baretta jerks/ Kills MCs off the top of the brain/ Your girls giving me brain, cause AL is insane/ You know the name, el nombre/ I do it in Spanish, MCs stepping to me, of course they vanish/ Spenglish or Spanglish, whatever, que loco tu qiuera/ AL, fuera fuego. Tonedeff Given any instance in time, I split the rhythm in a million pieces/ Pull tubes on scuba gear to disable the breathing features/ I’m fabled in regions, that I’ve hardly seen or dreamed of even/ Elvis believes I’m the king because I stole the crown from Stephen/ I’m overachieving. Y’all niggas snoring or sleeping/ Need to WAKE THE FUCK UP, game point for PLAYAS scoring a beating/ The Foreman of freedom, when you let me on/ Cause after you hear us…you’ll never wanna go back like Elian. Wordsworth – B Yo, what the hell he on?/ He be buggin out, when it’s a hot track now you can tell we on/ You prolly got some radiation inside of your brain and a tumor from hearing this because your celly’s on/ But wordsworth’ll come across any station/ You prolly jotting this down for your documentation/ This is something off the top of the dome, I didn’t write it/ But I know I’ll be killing all you rappers sooner or later, cause I’m a psychic. You gotta like it. PackFM – B He’s a psychic, and I got my sidekicks, PackFM/ You can’t rush it, going biking, while you’re pedaling/ Yo, I fucking roll, pumping like adrenaline/ My shit is ill, I’m under your skin just like the melanin/ PackFM, last name is an acronym, I’m smackin men/ Um, fucking getting your shit pumped just like an abdomen/ A Six Pack, Yo, you get your shit back/ Call the dispatch, because your shit’s wack/ Yo, Get off the dick black.
"24HourMC Verse" Written & Produced by: Tonedeff ©2000 QN5 Music (ASCAP) V1 24 Hours From Now, I’ll be still around/ Digging up potholes, then kill ya sound to fill the ground/ My skill abounds over yours in comparison, Cause you square and It’s embarrasing/ You can talk to the hand like Mr. Garrison/ Your strategy is to pass time/ Figured that if I posted first, then you could get in the last line/ Praying that you’ll surpass mine, with a punchline and a crass rhyme/ But I be Def with the language without the hand signs/ I put em up and you can’t climb the edifice/ Cause I’m phatter than Cameron Manheim with the rhetoric, I’m a Landmine to stepping degenerates/ And I’m bettin I’m even better when edited/ When it gets into repetetive doses, you’ll be beggin’ for more like I was a medical sedative/ I’ll pull your card and leave ya discredited/ You see, my style is like a family reunion, because it’s all relative/ You’re outta your element, in America with a peso/ You can’t deliver your own rhymes, like a pantomime at a stage show/ You gonna need backup. coming up with another production/ You’re style is akin is to your site, you’re whole flow is under construction/ Been a cartoonist since birth/ Since your sweating my records, go check the package because I dissed you on the insert/ You’re better off as a comic/ Cause Punchline artists get framed splattered and hung like a painting from Jackson Pollack/ So, crack your wallet, cause your raps are squalid/ Cause you suck more than porn starlet’s mouth in a black hole with a vacuum on it/ So, swallow it whole, nigga, pride & all/ Show the same ignorance that made Master P decide to ball/ And actually since your stal I’ll win with apathy/ Cause I’m a threat veiled as your teacher like the aliens in the faculty.
Fast 04:57
"Fast" Written & Produced by: Tonedeff ©2001 QN5 Music (ASCAP) V1 Things move so fast and I can’t stop them. Things move so fast and I can’t stop them from moving. There’s building swaying in the wind. Would you believe, it was just from passing them by. Things are moving so fast. So I keep on moving, and moving on. You know I keep on moving, and moving on, to keep up. Keep on moving on. You know I keep on moving, and moving on, to keep on. Keep on moving on. V2 I’m so lost inside my head. There’s so many thoughts to contemplate, so many ways to move. And I don’t know what to do with myself sometimes. So, I start reading the lines on my hands And then I remember that fate is just a bullshit excuse for failure. Keep thinking you’ve got time. But there’s not enough of it to spend to those you owe. And when they call collect You still won’t get the world to slow down. Things are moving so fast. So Fast. So I keep on moving, and moving on. You know I keep on moving, and moving on, to keep up. Keep on moving on. You know I keep on moving, and moving on, to keep on. Keep on moving on. Keep treading. Keep Moving on. Because time will fight against you. Because time will fight hard against you; work against you. Keep on moving, cause time is coming ‘round.


Originally pressed in 2001 as a Tonedeff 101 for the uninitiated, Hyphen is a rare-find. Only 2,100 copies were pressed as a promotional venture - all of which sold out within a year.

Created during Tonedeff's "Battle MC" period, when he first ventured to New York City to pursue his music career, Hyphen is a densely-woven tapestry of punchlines and metaphors.

Containing what many consider to be Tonedeff's first notable tunes, the instantly-catchy "Spanish Song," and the video-game bounce anthem, "Move In, Ride Out," Hyphen is short on conceptual content, and high on energy, witt and irreverance. Tracks like the introductory "Space," and "Battle Rhyme Hookers," showcase the gifted sense of wordplay and fluid delivery that has made Tonedeff a notable figure on the underground hip-hop scene.

Also, in keeping with The Monotone EP, Tonedeff once again forays into the world of harmonics and electronica with the classic, "Fast," as song that details our daily struggle against time itself. Complete with stuttering drum & bass-like arrangements and an etherial breakdown that left jaws floored upon hearing it, "Fast" is truly one of the defining songs in Tonedeff's early career.


released August 15, 2001

Written by: Tonedeff for QN5 Music (ASCAP)
Producers: Tonedeff, Deacon The Villain, Domingo & DJ Rob.
Recorded at: QN5 Manor (NYC).
Cover Design: Anwar Montasir for Switched On Studios.
Photography: Nadia Cohen
© 1998-2001 QN5 Music.


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