| Artist/Band: 
DJ Format Lyrics for Song: The Hit Song feat. MC Abdominal
 Lyrics for Album: Music for the Mature B-Boy [2003]
 
 
 
 4310>[Cut in Voice]
 
 People always asking me, man how do you make a hit record, well heres what I do
 
 
 
 [Abdominal]
 
 Pulling the king and the seven and I'm feeling lucky, So I was like hit me
 
 At which point my phone rang, and it hit me
 
 That I had mentioned to format he should hit me
 
 Off on the cell I put my cards down and hit the..talk button
 
 "Andy, it's Matt, let me ask you something mate
 
 I've just come from london you know we're meeting with the label
 
 They seem to want another hit, are you avaliable?"
 
 I was like dude, you know what to do
 
 Peruse through a few new beats and promptly hit me
 
 Out with a beat tape or better yet a disc so when I'm writing I can swiftly
 
 Rewind the hittin' drums, couple of weeks of hits I'll have written some
 
 And I'll be kickin them, just as soon as I can hit eng-uh-land
 
 I hope that my plane won't be swingin from, hittin turbulence
 
 Or else I'll be hit with disturbances
 
 Down in my gut, you know nervousness
 
 But when we safely hit terra-firma it's
 
 Only right the first thing we hit our palms together
 
 Because that's been the hiphop greeting like for forever
 
 After that I'll probably wanna hit the mic booth
 
 Adjust the mic, so I don't hit my right tooth
 
 Once I hit my comfort level, hit record
 
 And soon enough we'll have another, hit record
 
 In fact even though the song isn't done
 
 By my count that was 18 hits alone
 
 And it's only verse number one
 
 
 
 [start chorus]
 
 I use the word hit in many said senses
 
 Listen how many hits I manage to condense in the first verse
 
 In the second I'm trying to rhyme as many words I can find that sound like (hit!)
 
 In the last third verse, tittilating metpahors
 
 example: I write more hits than mascot hit'samples
 
 
 
 [end chorus]
 
 Abs and Format, not doing what others did, (step in studio, produce yet another hit)
 
 
 
 [Same Cut In Voice]
 
 Alright, I want you to listen to this next little verse
 
 and if you feel like it sing along
 
 And if you don't wanna sing along, maybe you can clap your hands
 
 
 
 [Abdominal]
 
 As I sit, inifinite scripts, like a list, it's from the tip of a bic
 
 Much betwixt my digits less, strictly from the itty bit of sunlight
 
 That manage to slip between the curtains thin slits, (hits)
 
 Its illumination adequate, to the point that I can refrain from hitting electric switches
 
 Which is a good thing, because it prevents my hydro bill from reaching up to fever pitches
 
 I'll keep it simply lit, my raps exhibit wit, which would even shine through in egyptian crypts
 
 Ill equipped, and resist that stupidly step to this, surrender forfeit
 
 Shit nit wit quit twit pit sing first versus the verses that this kid spits
 
 Insist to persist, you'll cease to exist
 
 So cease and desist, or meet with my fist
 
 Specifically your lips, because that's the gist when you enlist abs for hits
 
 
 
 [chorus]
 
 Abs and Format, musical brothers kid, (step in the studio, produce yet another hit)
 
 
 
 See I got hits kid, so many hits, (how many hits ya got!?), lots
 
 Exemplary metaphors, let me select a few
 
 More hits than when you play blackjack with a deck of twos
 
 More hits than latin percussionists administered to wood blocks
 
 More hits than jimmy dropped at woodstock
 
 I'm not kidding
 
 I'm responsible for more hits than workaholic mafia hitmen
 
 I need to make hits in the worst way
 
 Hitting harder than a family of starving, steroid-injected Mexican quintuplets
 
 Armed with crowbars smacking the shit out of a candy-filled piñata
 
 on their birthday - only hits when I write
 
 More hits than Germans surfing fetish websites
 
 Yo, that is a lot of hits.
 
 More hits than Barry Bonds playing slow pitch, in a disabled seniors league
 
 More hits than -goldoply?- the enforcer on a typical hockey team
 
 Instinctively you wince, from this flurry of hits
 
 But if your still unconvinced, a last example but then I'll be finished
 
 More hits than Roy Jones Junior in a ten-round bare-fisted cage match versus
 
 A sleep deprived, blindfolded richard simmons
 
 
 
 [chorus]
 
 Abs and Format, we hit you like your mother did
 
 (step in the studio, produce yet another hit)
 
 
 
 [Cut In Voice]
 
 That's all, c'mon, that's all, that's all, that's all
 
 that's allll, that's all, that's alllllll I need
 
 To make a hit record...
 
 Look at that money flowin' in....
 
 4310>
 |