| Ms. Hill, you got skills, that’s a gift, it’s real
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| get ill, what you spit got the power to uplift the heel
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| I wish I could talk to Lauryn
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| I mean excuse me, Ms. Hill
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| and let her know how much we love her is real
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| the industry was beating her up then those demons started eating her up she need a savior that’ll bleed in a cup, yup
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| we used to kick it in the salad days
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| when she look at me like she ain’t know me when she see me nowadays
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| I nod, she nod back, that’s how it stay
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| her songs still better than anything out there
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| hotter power play
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| remember how they accused her of saying
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| she did her album without help
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| then she went to Rome to sing
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| and tell the Pope about herself
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| just after she left the Fugees
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| started rolling with the Marleys
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| got back with her crew at Dave Chapelle’s Block Party
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| she made songs about Zion
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| and trying to be faithful
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| took the Blackstar on tour in Europe
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| I was so grateful
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| speaking for myself but I’m sure I could speak for Dante
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| I got to watch a show with Nina Simone and Harry Belafonte
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| we used to chill at Nkiru, her moms was a customer
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| she used to love to buy the books by Octavia Butler
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| Parable of the Sower, the main character’s name was Lauren
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| what the album did for black girls’souls was so important
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| I got concerned when she got sick on the road
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| she ain’t heavy, I’m a brother
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| and I wish that I could pick up the load, but no every night, slips away
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| in other words, I should say
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| there are no words, you should say
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| there are no words
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| another night slips away
|
| in other words, I should say
|
| there are no words, you should say
|
| there are no words
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| Ms. Hill, you got skills, that’s a gift, it’s real
|
| get ill, what you spit got the power to uplift the heel
|
| got your assitant on the the phone
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| «I need to talk to Lauryn»
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| and I wanna walk through the storm, and I could be the umbrella
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| when the rain is pouring
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| please, this no disrespect to whoever your man is though
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| this relationship is strictly music like D’angelo
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| I know you hate Babylon, and wanna see it fall
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| but they won’t let you read your poem at the BET awards
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| you give us hope, you give us faith, you the one
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| they don’t like what you got to say
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| but still they beg you to come, whoa
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| now that’s powerful sis, it’s black power
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| we get money, keep our eyes on the final hour
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| and no I ain’t saying you Christ, that would be sacriligous right?
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| but you can blow up the night, sisters the rats is vicious
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| the raps the sisters recite with their black fist up the devil’s last wish is a queen that rise past bitches
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| we used to read Francis Crest or anything
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| by Third World Press will press
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| but what the power of the word suggest
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| hatched ideas in our heads like birds in the nest
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| you gave birth to a new sound like Don did West, yes
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| should I be saying all of this while the mic is on?
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| I might as well let it out because one day I might be gone
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| I write this song and hope you feel how much we love you
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| and you play it, cause I really ain’t got the words to say it but yo every night, slips away
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| in other words, I should say
|
| there are no words, you should say
|
| there are no words
|
| another night slips away
|
| in other words, I should say
|
| there are no words, you should say
|
| there are no words
|
| Ms. Hill, you got skills, that’s a gift, it’s real
|
| get ill, what you spit got the power to uplift the heel |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Ms. Hill, artist - Talib Kweli. Album song Right About Now, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп