definition
Hello, everybody. Recording live from somewhere
Looooord... Lord have mercy
Black Star
All nice and decent crew
This is timeless! C'mon!
Follow me now, we say
Say, Hi-Tek, yes, you're ruling hip-hop
Put your hands up! C'mon, c'mon!
Say, J. Rawls, yes, you're ruling hip-hop
Put your hands up, everybody
Redefinition, say, you're ruling hip-hop
Put your hands up, c'mon
Say, Black Star, come to rock it non—
Yo, from the first to the last of it, delivery is passionate
The whole and not the half of it, forecast and aftermath of it
Projectile that them blasted with, accurate assassin shit
Me and Kweli close like Bethlehem and Nazareth
After this, you be pressing rewind on top your master disk
Shining like an asterisk for all those that be gathering
Connecting like a roundhouse from the townhouse to the tenements
'Cause all my Brooklyn residents, known as heavy regiments
Don't believe, here the evidence—where Brooklyn? (WHOA!)
See that? Bound to take it all, kid, believe that
From where they sell they tree at, to where the police be at
Talib Kweli, e-Kweli-ty, yo, tell 'em where we be at;
Brooklyn, New York City, where they paint murals of Biggie
In cash we trust, 'cause it's ghetto fabulous, life look pretty
What a pity—blunts is still fifty cents, it's intense
Tree scents is dominant, can't be covered with incense
My presence felt; my name is Kweli from the Eternal Reflection
People thinking MC is shorthand for misconception
Let me meditate, set it straight, came to the conclusion
That most of these cats is featherweight, let me demonstrate
Walking the streets is like battling; be careful with your body
You must know karate and think your soul is bulletproof like Sade
Stop actin' like a bitch already, be a visionary
And maybe you can see your name in the column of obituaries
Third grade teacher reading and talking about, "I knew he'd amount to nothing."
Neighbors like, "He was the quiet type, who'd have thought they was fronting?"
Talking loud like you on RCA, get carted away with
Body parts and trays, what a way to start your day, yo, it's like—
One, two, three (C'mon!)
Mos Def and Talib Kweli
We came to rock it on to the tip-top (C'mon!)
Best alliance in hip-hop, Y-O
I said, one, two, three
It's kind of dangerous to be a MC (C'mon!)
They shot 2Pac and Biggie
Too much violence in hip-hop, Y-O
I said Manhattan keep on making it, Brooklyn keep on taking it
So, relax, we're taking it back, Red Hook where we're living at
Plenty cats be struggling not hustling and bubbling
It ain't about production, then —what is we discussing?
When the cock crows, my crop grows, enable me to rock flows
Striving for perfection ever since I was a snot-nose
Colossal! True, original b-boy apostle
Standing on the rooftop with the Zulu Gestapo
You think you the shit? Somebody in the wings'll force you to quit
It could be your crew or clique or some random kid you smoked buddha with
Consider me the entity within the industry without a history
Of spitting the epitome of stupidity
Living my life, expressing my liberty, it gotta be
Done properly, my name is in the middle of equality
People follow me, and other cats they hear 'em flow
And assume I'm the real one with the lyrics like I'm Cyrano
Still sipping wishing well water imported from Pluto
Three hundred and sixty milliliters for all the believers
In miles or kilometers, most cats, cannot precede us
In the jungle with the leaders, we them lions, you the cheetahs
Our cypher will complete us as we come through your receivers
You can play us and repeat us and then take us home and read us
(Line for line) Good Jesus! Mos Def and Kweli just
Make a pussy freeze up; think it over, ease up
One, two, three
Mos Def and Talib Kweli
We came to rock it on to the tip-top
Best alliance in hip-hop, Y-O
I said, one, two, three
It's kind of dangerous to be an MC
They shot 2Pac and Biggie
Hold your head when the beat drop, Y-O