[Talib Kweli]
Yeah, as a kid growin' up in Brooklyn.
My pops was a DJ, he had a bunch of records.
Funk, Jazz, Rythm & Blues, Soul.
Know what i'm sayin?
There was this one Gospel record I liked.
Like, like, like Holy Moly, I might kiss a religion and leave you holy holy.
YEAH
This rhyme is so phat it's roly-poly.
I give you intimite detals so you can get to know me.
These corporate rappers like, why this dude pickin' one me?
You rap your way to the top, but now it's gettin' lonely.
Kids is hungry and you lookin' like a steak from Nick & Tony.
But don't no body want your jewels cuz your sh*t is phony.
You say boy your shit is real, damn your shit is corny.
Your rhymes turn into page like Mark Foley.
And touch kids like when Larry Clark gave the part to Chloe.
Rest in peace to Harold Hunter, the greatest from New York.
Started out skatin' to Zoo York.
WORD
Hagin' out at The Gavin, I was very lucky.
To talk to Rash' once I got past Derek Dudley.
Got him on Respiration, thats a pre-badu.
Bet you Garnett Reid got a Matt Doo tattoo.
Sometimes I feel like i'm drownin', I gotta tread water.
Head above the water, I always remember head quarters.
Head up, eyes open. I got my mind focused.
I find hope inside a line, my rhymes define opus.
Sometimes hope is people, fill my thoats with evil.
My records so hard it broke the needle.
At the mixtape awards ni**as act like they don't give a fu*k though.
Disrespect the legacy of Justo.
What the blood clot? No let the blood flow.
You ain't come to pay your respect? Then what chu come fo?
Do many good ni**as die like a stop loss, hood ni**as ghetto like fried wings and hot sauce.
How you hard? the cops lettin' 50 shots off?
Baby Jay-Z, with the knock off Scott Storch BEAT.
You are not short, you are not cat.
You not a player or a pimp money stop that.
Learn to master your speech and be eloquent.
Rappers keep peddlin sweets, the beats weaker than gelatin.
We used to kick up dust, now we settlin'.
Rest in peace to Dilla, Weldon, we can't forget you, Professor X and, Proof we miss you
WORD.
Rest in peace to Shaka, twenty one gun salute In the air like BLOK BLOK BLOK.
You're still here cause you're livin through me.
You're like a gift God has given to me.
Uh, uh, uh, what?