Your Move

Scornful Harlem female MC, 96 BPM hard boom-bap, slamming kick and snare, upright bass riff, blaring trumpet stabs, aggressive barked bars, shouted chorus, ‑indie, ‑soft, ‑jazz, ‑smooth jazz, ‑mellow, ‑relaxed, ‑brushed drums, ‑lounge, ‑gentle, ‑sleepy, ‑lullaby, ‑whisper, ‑industrial, ‑trap hi-hat rolls, ‑drill, ‑choir, ‑gang shouts, ‑crowd chants, ‑Soft Fire, ‑lo-fi, ‑ballad, ‑piano, ‑organ, ‑keyboards, ‑metal, ‑slide guitar, ‑808, ‑cowbell, ‑punk, ‑country, ‑twang, ‑opera, ‑gospel, ‑funk, ‑ska, ‑horror, ‑Halloween, ‑generic rap voice, ‑crooning, ‑crooner, ‑breathy, ‑talk-sing, ‑hushed, ‑legato, ‑silky, ‑smooth, ‑half-spoken, ‑close-mic, ‑spoken, ‑spoken word, ‑mumble, ‑mumble rap, ‑whispered, ‑laid-back, ‑low-energy, ‑thin vocal, ‑auto-tune, ‑dubstep, ‑EDM drop, ‑R&B, ‑emo, ‑reggaeton, ‑dancehall, ‑strings, ‑warm mid-range male vocal, ‑warm mid-range female vocal, ‑male vocals

[Chorus: Scornful Harlem female MC, shouted, full chest]
Twenty on the table, baby, your move
Push a pawn, push your luck, either way you lose
Talk all you want while the clock run through
Twenty on the table, baby, your move

[Verse 2: Scornful Harlem female MC, faster, scornful and loud]
Game one, he opened with a line, not a knight
Said you come here often, I said every day, right
Game two, he winked when he castled his king
I took both rooks while he played with his ring
Game three, he said your move, pretty eyes
I said I moved twice while you were working your lies
Game four, he paid me in crisp new bills
Game five, he loosened up the tie for the thrills
Six games down and the sun going red
Every man on the bench shaking his head

[Bridge: Scornful Harlem female MC, clock hammer, the beat stops and she hits the chess clock three times alone, then trumpet and drums land on checkmate]
One second left
Bishop to the corner
Hit the clock
Mate

[Verse 3: Scornful Harlem female MC, full force, barking every bar]
He sat there staring at the king on its side
Seven games, seven twenties, and a whole lot of pride
He said one more and I swear I'll be smart
I said you're not built for it, but you got some heart
Took his scoresheet off the table and I picked up the pen
Wrote seven little numbers and I slid it back again
Didn't need a dinner, didn't need you to woo
Now the clock's on your side, honey, your move

[Outro: Scornful Harlem female MC, shouted, trumpet stabs, full band hit to end]
Your move
Clock's running
Don't be slow

[End]

2450/7500

[Verse 1: Scornful Harlem female MC, barked and aggressive, loud from the first word] Folding table in the park and a clock with two faces Twenty on the table, I don't play for the graces Pigeons on the bench, it's a hundred degrees Grandpa on the left still owes me for three Here come a suit with his tie hanging low Cufflinks gold and a smile on show Sat in the seat like he owned the block Said I'll take it easy, he said start the clock [Chorus: Scornful Harlem female MC, shouted, full chest] Twenty on the table, baby, your move Push a pawn, push your luck, either way you lose Talk all you want while the clock run through Twenty on the table, baby, your move [Verse 2: Scornful Harlem female MC, faster, scornful and loud] Game one, he opened with a line, not a knight Said you come here often, I said every day, right Game two, he winked when he castled his king I took both rooks while he played with his ring Game three, he said your move, pretty eyes I said I moved twice while you were working your lies Game four, he paid me in crisp new bills Game five, he loosened up the tie for the thrills Six games down and the sun going red Every man on the bench shaking his head [Chorus: Scornful Harlem female MC, shouted, full chest] Twenty on the table, baby, your move Push a pawn, push your luck, either way you lose Talk all you want while the clock run through Twenty on the table, baby, your move [Bridge: Scornful Harlem female MC, clock hammer, the beat stops and she hits the chess clock three times alone, then trumpet and drums land on checkmate] One second left Bishop to the corner Hit the clock Mate [Verse 3: Scornful Harlem female MC, full force, barking every bar] He sat there staring at the king on its side Seven games, seven twenties, and a whole lot of pride He said one more and I swear I'll be smart I said you're not built for it, but you got some heart Took his scoresheet off the table and I picked up the pen Wrote seven little numbers and I slid it back again Didn't need a dinner, didn't need you to woo Now the clock's on your side, honey, your move [Chorus: Scornful Harlem female MC, shouted, full chest] Twenty on the table, baby, your move Push a pawn, push your luck, either way you lose Talk all you want while the clock run through Twenty on the table, baby, your move [Outro: Scornful Harlem female MC, shouted, trumpet stabs, full band hit to end] Your move Clock's running Don't be slow [End]

0/500