Statik Selektah, Styles P, Talib Kweli - The Thrill Is Back lyrics
[Statik Selektah, Styles P, Talib Kweli - The Thrill Is Back lyrics]
The thrill is (The thrill is gone)
(I feel it coming back though
I mean it’s back, really though, you know)
The thrill is gone, I think it's coming back
40 below
Bubble coats and a lot of struggle rap
(New York, New York)
Back in the days I used to juggle crack
Met real hip hop and fell in love with that
And the money along with it
But what’s a good time without
Hearing a song with it?
Used to wonder where the did the culture go
If it left did it go
Where it's supposed to go?
Good question, no answer
Living slow, more like Jo Jo Dancer
No sniffing, no burning up
If he ain’t turn the mic on
How the hell he turning up?
Design of my mind is so intricate
Smoke, make the rhyme up
Not hard to think of it
Ill writer with no ink pen
Walter White of the bars, you Jesse Pinkman
(Your style is played out)
We shining brighter than the
Lights on a cityscape (New York)
Something's wrong
The thrill is gone like Biggie say
Start a revolt like Diddy, nope
I’m not kidding with a targets
They leaving in a scope like Fifty
The slave mentality over, we think bolder
I finally kept the craft
Now I’m killing these King Cobras
They try to take the crown
But they drown in they own blood
The next time the dudes came
Around they showed love (Where the love?)
The heart is a house for love
But where your furnishings
Complaining about the game
But still voting with your purchases
Burning it
I murder the tournament that determine it
For the market and they slobbin’ on the
Knob that we turn it with (Turn it up)
The bars make you follow the stars
I’m like Copernicus
The Gods flying up to the
Firmaments to feel the turbulence
The bullets gonna hit you from
The pistols that they burnish
Got you praying for tourniquets
Hoping that the scar ain’t permanent
Come on, man
(I feel it coming back though
I mean it’s back, really though, you know)
The thrill is gone, I think it's coming back
40 below
Bubble coats and a lot of struggle rap
(New York, New York)
Back in the days I used to juggle crack
Met real hip hop and fell in love with that
And the money along with it
But what’s a good time without
Hearing a song with it?
Used to wonder where the did the culture go
If it left did it go
Where it's supposed to go?
Good question, no answer
Living slow, more like Jo Jo Dancer
No sniffing, no burning up
If he ain’t turn the mic on
How the hell he turning up?
Design of my mind is so intricate
Smoke, make the rhyme up
Not hard to think of it
Ill writer with no ink pen
Walter White of the bars, you Jesse Pinkman
(Your style is played out)
We shining brighter than the
Lights on a cityscape (New York)
Something's wrong
The thrill is gone like Biggie say
Start a revolt like Diddy, nope
I’m not kidding with a targets
They leaving in a scope like Fifty
The slave mentality over, we think bolder
I finally kept the craft
Now I’m killing these King Cobras
They try to take the crown
But they drown in they own blood
The next time the dudes came
Around they showed love (Where the love?)
The heart is a house for love
But where your furnishings
Complaining about the game
But still voting with your purchases
Burning it
I murder the tournament that determine it
For the market and they slobbin’ on the
Knob that we turn it with (Turn it up)
The bars make you follow the stars
I’m like Copernicus
The Gods flying up to the
Firmaments to feel the turbulence
The bullets gonna hit you from
The pistols that they burnish
Got you praying for tourniquets
Hoping that the scar ain’t permanent
Come on, man