The Format – The Hit Song (Feat. Mc Abdominal) lyrics

[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 he put my cards down and hit these..hot buttons
"-Matty?- it's matt let me ask you something mate
I 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 and 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 tempa 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
But just 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?- tenses
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, -hitilating?- metpahors
example: I write more hits than mascot hit samples

[end chorus]
Abs and Format, not doing what others did, (step in studio, it's just 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)
It's illumination adequete, 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 just where -nicholas afra?- hits

[chorus]
Abs and format, musical brothers kid, (step in the studio, it's just 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 administer 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 pinata
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?- in force or 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 barefisted cage match versus
A sleep deprived, blindfolded richard simmons

[chorus]
Abs and format, we hit you like your mother did
(step in the studio, it' s just 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...
They straight K-Tel wheras he be cold chilling
Steady knocking fillings outta mouths of super-villains
And then charging 'em for dental repairs
Lay em down gently in the dental chair
Fasten the bib, a real no-brainer
Next step in the procedure administer the novacaine
Or better yet a more effective anaesthetic
Like a pint of chilled rubbing alcohol for the vocally pathethic
Once theyre snorin the work commences by this
Blood-splattered, demented dentist
Dr. Abdominal extracting tongues, rendering wack rappers dumb
Some who look like they got a bit of endurance
Also get their lips sewn shut for assurance
I know it sounds harsh but he can't be sympathetic
In his war against the wackness it's an epidemic
Spreading over cities nations and continents
Abdominal heaven-sent antidote, through dopeness
With a 'M' on my chest, for microphonist