| The lord chief rocker, I’m colder than meatlockers
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| My people keep throwin' it up like cheap vodka
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| I smack internet emcees and beat bloggers
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| You can see my black thought like ‘Riq Trotter
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| It’s deep — go ahead and sleep
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| They know in the street Kwe' gon flow on the beat proper
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| Composin' complete operas
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| Longer than a cigar thats godfather
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| Tap into heart chakras im harder than gobstoppers
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| People comin' for the throne not knowin' the seat hotter
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| Than fish grease, criminal names on police blotters
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| You convinced me, I hit targets like top shottas
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| Out in the mideast like Muslims takin' Shahada
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| I’m sayin' makin' a profit a product of Reaganomics
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| Awake and I’m stayin' conscious to radio playin' garbage, yeah
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| Blacksmith Music, if you don’t pay homage
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| I’ma show you how we break an artist
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| That’s a threat, I’m not makin' a promise
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| Speak to the people like Barak Obama
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| They worship like a black Madonna, c’mon
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| Niggas talk shit, but they ain’t got skills
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| I’m the type of nigga to put lead in your grill
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| Number two pencil is sharper to bruise mentals, and
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| Beatin' in my chest is the heart of a true gentleman
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| Still spit right in your face
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| Fuck a Top 8, back up, gimme my space, you’re not safe
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| Yeah, they say I’m back, but I ain’t go nowhere though
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| Been here the whole time
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| Where you been? |
| You back
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| Matter fact, apologize
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| Talk shit now (now…now…now…) What? |
| What?
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| Talk shit now (now…now…now…) What?
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| Talk shit now (now…now…now…) What?
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| Talk shit now (now…now…now…) What?
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| Talk shit now (now…now…now…) C’mon
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| Say something (g'head), say something (uh huh)
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| Say something (what?) (who is it?) say something (Jean Grae!)
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| (Jean Grae)
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| Yeah, open your mouth, say something, I fuckin' dare you
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| Chokin' you out till you can’t suck any air through
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| Fuck with your man too, thinkin' I can’t do what I plan to
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| Vet vandal, niggas are brand new
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| Ain’t knew I was bad news? |
| Look at the tattoos
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| Get ran through like you was fingers through Sassoon
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| Horror chick in the bathroom, off the backstage room
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| Shit you couldn’t imagine, nigga I’ll harass you
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| I’ll Ras Kass you, soul on ice and body cast dude
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| Past due, Jean and Kwe the last two action heroes
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| Actually had the capacity to be the ones in a class of zeroes
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| Hip hop’s not dead, it was on vacation
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| We back, we bask in the confrontation
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| You can ask me, have any conversation
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| You talk shit, Blacksmith, Jean, I’m waitin', nigga
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| Talk shit now (now…now…now…) What? |
| What?
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| Talk shit now (now…now…now…) What?
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| Talk shit now (now…now…now…) What?
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| Talk shit now (now…now…now…) What?
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| Talk shit now (now…now…now…)
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| Say something (g'head), say something (what was that?)
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| Say something (I dare you), say something
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| (Talib Kweli)
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| We not fallin' for your trick ‘cause your image is like a gimmick
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| Forget it, every rhyme is bitten, you like a mimic
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| I’m talkin' to the lord and I’m askin' him for forgiveness
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| Just for kickin' niggas out the club like Michael Richards
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| Yeah, I admit, I’m guilty, the way I spit is filthy
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| I keep it gritty, so they get it, they feel me, the flow
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| Is known for touchin' the soul of street hustlers
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| I speak in the language — you know I keep customers
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| The writing therapeutic, it’s due to the pain and sufferin'
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| While these dudes get it confused and abuse the creative substance
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| I’m givin' you a contact high, my name buzzin
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| And I came in the game with nothin', stop frontin' nigga, talk shit now!
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| The year of the Blacksmith is not defined by any calendar
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| Just thought I’d remind all you challengers
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| Get the name right, Talib Kweli, BKMC, stand up!
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| Get your hands in the air (get em up!)
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| Put your hands in the air (put em up!)
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| Get your hands in the air (get em up!)
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| Put your hands in the air (put em up!) |