Talib Kweli - Holy Moly lyrics
[Talib Kweli - Holy Moly lyrics]
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 & Toni's
But don't nobody want your jewels
Cause your shit is phony
Say word? Your shit is real? Damn
Your shit 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 New York
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 niggas act like
They don't give a fuck 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 niggas die
It's like a stop loss
Hood niggas 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?
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 & Toni's
But don't nobody want your jewels
Cause your shit is phony
Say word? Your shit is real? Damn
Your shit 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 New York
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 niggas act like
They don't give a fuck 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 niggas die
It's like a stop loss
Hood niggas 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?