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TALIB KWELI lyrics : "Holy Moly"

[Talib Kweli]
Yeah, as a kid growin up in Brooklyn, my pops was a DJ
He had a bunch of records - funk, jazz, rhythm and blues, soul

There was this one gospel record I liked like, like

Like holy moly, I might get some religion and leave you holy holy

Yeah, this rhyme is so fat it's roly poly
I give you intimate details so you can get to know me
These corporate rappers like "Why this dude pickin on me?"

You rap your way to the top, but now it's gettin lonely
Kids is hungry and you lookin like a steak from Nick & Tony's
But don't nobody want your jewels, cause your %#@! is phony

Say word? Your %#@! is real~?! Damn, your %#@! is corny
My rhymes turn a new page like Mark Foley
And touch kids like when Larry Clark gave the part to Chloe

Rest in peace to Harold Hunter, the greatest from NEWWW YAWK
Started out skatin for Zoo York
Word hangin out at The Gavin, I was very lucky

To talk to Rash' once I got past Derek Dudley
Got him on "Respiration", that's pre-Badu
Bet you Garnett Reid got a Matt Doo tattoo

Sometimes I feel like I'm drownin I gotta tread water
Head above the water I always remember Headquarters
Heads up, eyes open, I got my mind focused

I find hope inside a line, my rhymes define opus
Sometimes hopeless people, fill my thoughts with evil
My record so hard it broke the needle

At the Mixtape Awards ^!$$%z act like they don't give a $#&@ though
And disrespect the legacy of Justo
What the blood claat? No, let the blood flow

You ain't come to pay your respect, then what you come fo'?
Too many good ^!$$%z die, it's like a stop loss
Hood ^!$$%z ghetto like fried wings and hot sauce

How you hard? The cops lettin 50 shots off
Baby Jay-Z's with the knockoff Scott Storch beat
You are not Short, you are not Katt

You're not a player or a pimp, money stop that
Learn to master your speech and be eloquent
Rappers keep peddlin sweets, the beats weaker than gelatin

We used to kick up dust, now we settlin
Rest in peace to Dilla, Weldon, we can't forget you
Professor X and, Proof we miss you, word

Rest in peace to Shaka, twenty one gun salute
In the air like "BLAKA BLAKA BLAKA"
You're still here cause you're livin through me

You're like a gift God has given to me
Uh, uh, uh, what?

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