Soliloquies of Chaos: The Extinction Agenda by Organized Konfusion

Soliloquies of Chaos takes a look at some of my favorite verses of all time and my reasons for loving them. Pretty simple. Enjoy!

6 posts in to Soliloquies of Chaos my iTunes has forced the first repeat artist.

Pharoahe Monch is just that good.


“The Extinction Agenda” popped up on ye ole shuffle last night. Hadn’t heard it in a while and I had to let it rock. The beat is smooth and Prince Po delivers. But Monch.

Monch, Monch, Monch.

He devours this one. The stream of consciousness imagery, the intricate extended metaphors, the social criticism, the incredible “I can fit more syllables in every line than you can” early 90s style rap–the whole verse is just absurd. Though Monch certainly has more focused performances in his catalogue, “The Extinction Agenda” perfectly encapsulates his evolution from a fun-loving, flow technician (circa 1991 and OK’s self-titled debut) to a rap master who understood his flow could be wielded to enhance the song’s content (“Stray Bullet” is the beginning of this phase, “Simon Says” also provides a good example).


Check “The Extinction Agenda” and Monch’s verse after the break.

I’m the poetical poltergeist I heist tracks from the past
And return em to the present time in rhyme form
What was once dead is now resurrected on the record
And the physical words are mere residuals for my bidding
For my disposal to dispose of… who are you kidding
Nightfall, I stop the rook, then I’m looking for
the original book which contains the words of God
Six hours until dawn, my quest to capture the queen
without being seen by the pawns
Call me Bishop, bishop takes rook, rook takes pawn
pawn takes knight, knight takes queen
Queen takes the original King James version
I’m surgin up when I’m emergin
False clergymen you’re urgin me to call you a virgin
When to say the least
Who can you trust when a priest is now the beast?
(who? what? why?)
I’m the assassinator of rap
Hit rip rhyme rap ritual hit you with my best shot
Get you sit you down, let you know I never get dropped
When I flip-flop hip-hop, when I wreck shop (nigga)
I move, with the finesse and the smoothness
Even inside of the grooves of a record, check it
Check it again, check it again, check it again
Check the metaphors, make sure they’re making sense and then
Gimme one-hundred percent credit
Let it, medi-tate, in your brain, like a seda-tive
I set it and I bet it dwells in your bloodstream
Let it live
The verses of curses that burst in the face of the first time offenders
In the realm of the extinction agenda

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