Lyrics Project Jazz - Hell Razah, Talib Kweli, MF DOOM

Project Jazz

Renaissance… Razah Rubies…*
Let’s go, tell 'em
I was born in the era of kings, of heroin dreams
Now it be a Maccabee, spreading my wings (spread 'em)
I ain’t trippin' off material bling
I analyze off of Billie Holiday, the queen
What was Marvin Gaye thinking when he wrote that theme
A Trouble Man, why his pops had a gun his hand, damn
Hip hop go to way back then
Diddy used to sing doo-wop with two of his friends
I seen an oo-wop when I was like ten, excited by sin
I got my first gold front from Ben
Eighty-nine, I was into Rakim, for dropping gems
Most niggas learned a lot from him
Grandma used to cook with sounds of Sam Cooke
Mid-60's, my moms then moved to Red
Same hood Al Capone was put, and got his rep as a crook
In them criminal books, we don’t look
A crack hit I could never forget
In '92 Mr. Daily was hit by gun clips
You had to pump if you wanted some kicks
The best product on the block, it was quicker to flip
We had whips, but it wasn’t legit
I reminisce, Calvin Klein, he was running the shit
'76 came a heavenly prince, with one gift
To uplift, by the name Charon Smith
Dedicated to Miss Caroline Smith
Special love and respect
To real true pioneers (yeah), people like Ray Charles (we in here)
Barry White, let’s get back into the hall of fame, come on
Yo, yo, it’s like we all just beef and the strengths
Son is blind like a boxer that bleed in the ring
From a cut opened up above his right eye
Body all black and blue, like the Brooklyn nice guy, uh
Bobbing and weaving, and dodging the propaganda
My raps take it back like shopping at Alexander’s
My momma had the fly afro, my father cooked for a week and left all us with the
casarole
We didn’t have much, but with a little bit of love
Made due with the little bit we had, yo
We in a new millennium, Granny still singing Hem Slow
Jim Crow’s still keep the blacks po'
Look we blessed with the power to move people with music
It’s the natural resources, and we use it to broadcast and transmit live from
hell
What don’t kill you, make you stronger, I’m allowed to tell
Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up, man
Yo, yo, make sure you write it on the wall
Make sure it say, Renaissance Child
Talib Kweli, MF Doom, written for the babies
Let’s go
Vik slick talk, with a cough full of North
Of course New York floss, don’t know and blew pork
Before you walk across, look both ways
The third and the fourth of them nowaday old phase
Kept a dog on a wooden leg and hustled all night in the fog on the red
Even dressed like a bum and could beg
Instead use the other on the strength, what a good head
Been bred to win, since headspins, ooh them gems
Spread too thin, depends on who’s losing
Heads do spin, it’s deaded, now who’s in?
Revenge all here, enough combined slang to bang all year
It’s on, like it ain’t never been on cordless before
Report for lawless, ports is off shore
With horses, hanging the tablets, mating with rappers
Habits til they hate 'em and had it, damn it
And it’s gone with the wind, dead wrong
A song, with a spin and a grin
Out of style, with the blow out for mild mannered smile
Like a foul wild Spaniard on the soul out
Vaughn, the one you trick-a-don
Why stick it, if you gotta slip a snicker on, Viktor Vaughn
Yeah, to all the Cadillac riders, and it’s on
As it was in the beginning, so shall it be in the end
All the fathers with the godfathers, hip hop lives forever and ever
And ever… this is something you gon' be able to pass down to your babies
From generation to generation, that’s right, aight?
One love… and we out of here