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(Talib Kweli) |
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One two three, in the place to be! |
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MF Doom, Talib Kweli, ah here we go |
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On born days, I used to blow out the candles; and every Saturday |
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watch cartoons 'til noon and then I'd switch to Ralph McDaniels |
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I was, makin up a miracle flow, over a cereal bowl |
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And a paused beat from my stereo |
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Rhymes stronger than Popeye with the spinach |
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Yeah I'm gangster like the frog on Courageous Cat and Minute Mouse |
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Maybe I'm trippin and it's just a cartoon to you |
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But I got chills when I heard how Doom flipped the Scooby Doo |
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And, I might be buggin but it seem to me |
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that cartoons be realer than reality TV |
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They inspire my decision to be open and listen |
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But folks got it all twisted, like a yoga position |
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Like, in order to spit it dope, you gotta have a criminal past |
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that's similar to the cast of Different Strokes |
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Me and my people break bread, sit and smoke |
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The conversation rich, but that depend on what you consider broke |
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I draw on anything for inspiration |
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A fond memory, a piece of paper, walls in a train station |
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(Chorus: Talib Kweli) |
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It's just that I'm old school like that, roll that rap over soul loops like that |
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It's just that I'm old school like that, roll that rap over soul loops like that |
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(I'm old school y'all, yes y'all, I keep it goin y'all, here we go) |
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It's just that I'm old school like that, roll that rap over soul loops like that |
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(I'm old school y'all, keep it goin y'all, keep it goin y'all) |
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It's just that I'm old school like that, roll that rap over soul loops like that |
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(Ah here we go, c'mon) |
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(MF Doom) |
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And we'll be right back after these messages |
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Fellas grab your nutsacs, chicks squeeze your breastesses |
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We ain't all that grown, it's still funny like |
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Goin to the store on your own with rainbow money |
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Since then had an insane flow sonny |
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Walkin to the corner rhymin in the rain, nose runny |
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Breakdancin maybe ten, bummy |
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is when Subroc would run up handspring Arabian somee! |
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Ooh wee, like a Hong Kong Phooey kick |
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Or a weekend afternoon, karate movie flick |
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Slept good, no justice, no peace |
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Woody kept it hoody, never discussed it with police |
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Shot the fair one nobody ran to get the gat |
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Or felt they had to put it up in they raps to set it fat |
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And since when lyrical skills had to do with killin a cat? |
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What type of chitlins is that? |
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The Super Villain as the bat, hide your tonic |
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Whoever willin to ride, provide raw chronic |
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(Chorus) |
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(Talib) Yeah! |
