Quality Control

Next, we have a very-very big group

By the name of

Aye-yo, aye-yo

Come on, dude, you got it

Uh, yo, what, yo

Aye-yo, 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 of old

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 Lik like E, Tash, and J-Ro

We harass **** like we was the po-po

We can rule the world without Kurtis 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 groove and prove and show

The name of the game is survive and prove your flow

You can't out take Jurassic syllable

'Cause it's survival of professional radio

Stop and comprehend and heed the words of my pen

Survival of professional poetical highlanders

Soup, you plan on rockin' something fierce?

Oh am I

Zaakir's the name, the A.K.A. 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 that can't front on

Put me in the mix, LP 12-inch

SP, the elegant, poetic pestilence

I'm carbonated, plus Fante-confederated

Highly commemorated, and the most celebrated

For connecting it (WORD)

Verb subject to the predicate

Plus I got the etiquette

To keep it movin', and showin' 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're speaking

We got the kinda rhymes that get you ready for the weekend

To the mass amount of legions that came for party pleasing

Our temperature is freezin' all kinds of different regions

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

Please son, our thesis'll rip your crew in pieces

Your rhymes ain't ripe, homeboy, you ain't in season

Aye-yo, 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 of old

Yo, yo, well it's the angelic man-relic Klan repellent

My Planned Parent manuscripts withstands bullets

Flashin' like a Japan tourist, we command pure hits

While you cramming to understand these contraband lyrics

My fam submits to pray

Five times a day

Climbing into yo mind with live rhyme display

J5 finds a way to remain supreme

Comin' verbally Hardison as if my name was Kadeem

Yo, Aye-yo, my team Dreamworks

Without Spielberg's, I spill words

Communicate from the Earth throughout the universe

I transmit, transcripts, transcontinental lyrics

Deeply rooted in your spirit

Up, I love the power of words, nouns and verbs

The pen and the sword, linguist Art of War

No folklores or myths in my penmanship

The path of Scholar Warriors is what I present, uh

Verbally decapitating those against a

Jihad, fi sabilillah, words make sense

You gots  to get up on your vocab

You gots to have vocab

Letters makes words, and sentences makes paragraph

(Quality control)

It's Mark 7even, 2na Fish, Zaakir and Akil

(Producers of the highest quality product)

Cut Chemist, Numark

Yo, I make the pen capsize

The verbal with the planted eyes

Planning knives ever pair that I utilize

I spit juice, crack blood from your tooth

Inflict truth, speak Allah's ninety-nine attributes

Yo, aye-yo, you baby MC's drink Pedialyte

While underground doesn't like you, the media might

But we, the elite, will 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 pore tracks all over your brain rack

My mental maneuver will clear and steer right through ya

We Grand like Puba, understand that we move ya

Aye-yo, my rhythm reveal roller coaster real deal

Revolutionize with active build

I plant my dreams in the field and wait to harvest my skills

For the starvin' MC, hungry tryna get a meal

Aye-yo, 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 of old