Getting lost in the beats that's me.
Synced like a synth to the beat of the treat. The BPM that's
going round 126- 137. On the four on the floor on the club
or in the bar Ill take you far beyond the pulse of your
hart. Tools of the trade include a Mac and a stack of gear,
and noodles of cables that even the boldest DJ would fear.
For the monitors I use KRK and I sold all the hardware
long ago. Linked like a sphinx to the software i make in
a company called Waves that's
my shelter or my helter skelter. If you have a request,
then Ill do my best to laydown a track that will fill your
dreams. If you wanna talk don't be shy send a greeting
over nano techtubes to my box.
With a voice that so sweet and a razor
sharp tongue, a devil or angel, for you to decide. For
the lyrics and stories i'm armed with pen or a joint, used
with slight accuracy to deliver the point. Armed with a
mike and boots for the fight, Don't let the color of my
hair fool you, but judge for yourself if you want some
proof that it ain't no spoof. Check my log or blog and
that will clear up the fog.
Who's flipping records with the skill
of a Kong-Fu master, who's faster then this ghetto blaster?
I dare you to take me up, one on one with my Honda, too
fast for my own good, I'll burn it through the hood. Leaving
track's on your forehead. Dragging and dropping and cutting
and pasting, loops and sequences, that will make you go
crazy. Drum and bass in your face, the not so distant past
leaves a strong impression, on mixes that sound like a
killer on Prozak, insane after a night of drinking.