| Yeah, as a kid growin up in Brooklyn, my pops was a DJ
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| He had a bunch of records — funk, jazz, rhythm and blues, soul
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| There was this one gospel record I liked like, like
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| Like holy moly, I might get some religion and leave you holy holy
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| Yeah, this rhyme is so fat it’s roly poly
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| I give you intimate details so you can get to know me
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| These corporate rappers like «Why this dude pickin on me?»
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| You rap your way to the top, but now it’s gettin lonely
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| Kids is hungry and you lookin like a steak from Nick & Toni’s
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| But don’t nobody want your jewels, cause your shit is phony
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| Say word? |
| Your shit is real? |
| Damn, your shit is corny
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| My rhymes turn a new page like Mark Foley
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| And touch kids like when Larry Clark gave the part to Chloe
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| Rest in peace to Harold Hunter, the greatest from New York
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| Started out skatin for Zoo York
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| Word hangin out at The Gavin, I was very lucky
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| To talk to Rash' once I got past Derek Dudley
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| Got him on «Respiration», that’s pre-Badu
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| Bet you Garnett Reid got a Matt Doo tattoo
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| Sometimes I feel like I’m drownin I gotta tread water
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| Head above the water I always remember Headquarters
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| Heads up, eyes open, I got my mind focused
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| I find hope inside a line, my rhymes define opus
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| Sometimes hopeless people, fill my thoughts with evil
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| My record so hard it broke the needle
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| At the Mixtape Awards niggas act like they don’t give a fuck though
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| And disrespect the legacy of Justo
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| What the blood claat? |
| No, let the blood flow
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| You ain’t come to pay your respect, then what you come fo'?
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| Too many good niggas die, it’s like a stop loss
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| Hood niggas ghetto like fried wings and hot sauce
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| How you hard? |
| The cops lettin 50 shots off
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| Baby Jay-Z's with the knockoff Scott Storch beat
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| You are not Short, you are not Katt
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| You’re not a player or a pimp, money stop that
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| Learn to master your speech and be eloquent
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| Rappers keep peddlin sweets, the beats weaker than gelatin
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| We used to kick up dust, now we settlin
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| Rest in peace to Dilla, Weldon, we can’t forget you
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| Professor X and, Proof we miss you, word
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| Rest in peace to Shaka, twenty one gun salute
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| In the air like «BLAKA BLAKA BLAKA»
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| You’re still here cause you’re livin through me
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| You’re like a gift God has given to me
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| Uh, uh, uh, what? |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Holy Moly , by - Talib Kweli. Song from the album Eardrum, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп