[BlackThought]
One two
Yes, The Roots layin back, rela-xin
Coolin out with my man Malik B
we call him Sla-xon
YaknowhatI'msayin? We in effect
Mo like Al B. Sure, for your plea-sure
Aiyyo bust it
We about to flip it on some ol' laid back, mellow my man tip
We gon' set it like this
Yo check it
Bust it, La Di Da Di, who likes to party
like Slick Rick the Ruler I'm cooler than a ice brick
Got soul like those afro picks, with the black fist
And leave a crowd drippin like John the Baptist, it's
the cause of that "Oh shit!"
The skits I kick, flows like catfish
and got many emcees on the blacklist
I'm sharp as a cactus plus, quick to bust gymnastic tactics
Us, Roots is really true to that rap shit
Now holla to the scholarly, street skats that follow me
Back to the Soul Shack with packs of rap colonies
Max that, Foreign Objects is mad abstract, make Shadrach
offender wanna go like Meshach, Black
Thought the nappy cat a bookworm shoe styles like sperm
Cool as Malcolm Little with conch a la perm burn
The herb sticks like wicks, and flips when I slaps the hand
of my mellow my man, Malik B
[Malik B]
Here I goes, negroes best to know the flower
The pro-fessional, best in those skills that kills so uhh..
WHOA, slow down before you go down (sissy)
Trixie this is Agatha Christie your slain and know now
Next contender, Malik's the axe offender
Critique me so uniquely with mystique that's so deep within the
microphones I grip, psych with poems so's I slits throats
Put him in a quote, when he croaks
They sayin -- isn't it, is it the negro that did it?
Cause wreck with the tech, make you jump and say 'ribbit'
I exhibit many forms, prohibit the corny forms
(And we're in, your neighborhood) on the norms
Capture, was to, whack ya
Manu-facture, you can even ask Anita about the, rap-ture
I figured, perhaps ya, a say it SLAM
for my mellow my manlove the run but not the race
all alone in a silent way
world drifts in and the world's a stranger
in a light, eclipsed and alienated
in a time, occupied and invaded
can't tell what's right, better hit the ground running
in the hills where the tall weed grows
hands are tied and won't let go
can't escape this place without leaving the world behind
in a light, ashamed and humiliated
in a time, sacrificed for the sake of trade
the soul is bent, feels the weight of truth
falling through
left behind, no choice but to run to the mountains
where no poppies grow, you have to hit the ground running
in a light, paralyzed and spirits fading
out of time, must decide to fall or run
into the eye, of the storm no sign or omen
make it right, or fall to the other side
where fields are burning
from the day you're born
you'll always hit the ground running