Talib Kweli, Diamond D - On Mamas lyrics

"I thought about it the other day
I'm 27 and a half years
Old my guy and I never left
Brooklyn, left Brooklyn, left Brooklyn
Left Brooklyn


One autumn night I caught a
Flight to Jamaica to
Get away from all the stresses of life
And all the fights I had to break up
Brought the studio with me
I'm picky about the spots I rеcord in
Plus the drones
They got an angеl that's fallen
I'm on the beach
Where my bae definition of cupcake
And niggas hatin' them
My skin so dark, I look Jamaican
Awkwardly droppin patois in
My casual conversation
On occasion getting further away
From the frustrations
But so many of my people catch a tough break
Stressed like a nigga from New
York with a gun case
Meanwhile I'm on the island cuttin’ dubplates
Smokin’ weed's more colorful than
Leaves fallin’ upstate
Been listenin' to Mac Miller's "Self Care"
But still can't keep my mind
Off of my people welfare
That’s when I throw on that Dead Prez
"Hell yeah' headed to New York
Ain't a better vibe elsewhere

To write that shit, the real life shit
Got every system pumpin'
On mamas son, they love it
We bakin' them cakes, we cookie cutter
I'm fresher than a New York sling
It's so butter how we
Write that shit, the real life shit
Got every system pumpin'
On mamas son, they love us
We bakin' them cakes, we cookie cutter
I'm fresher than a New York sling
It's so butter how we

Goin' number 1 like Pete Rock
The soul brother
2020 bad money I'm runnin the whole summer
That's gold it's the flow like no other
And they lovin' it, like LB and Joe Scudda
New Yorkers
We don't concern ourselves with the quorum
It's the home of hip hop
The anti-pop consortium
Where the cops let off
41 shots without warnin'
Kill 'em dead in the street and
Let the coroner sort 'em
Used to spray paint our name
Gettin' up to get fame
Now our babies comin' out of the womb like
Gang gang back in the day all of that
Bangin' was a Cali thing
You could tell the difference from the
New York and the Cali slang
I love to write to the clangin' of the train
The kids playin on the swing
The braap of the gun play
The airhorn that tell Hasidics
It's time to pray
The drummin' on Sundays in the park
With the sun rays shine down
On the hallowed grounds where rap started at
My bars are like African
Artifacts over harder tracks
It started back when Phil
Sims was a quarterback
Still drop and slap to give a
Young boy a heart attack
(Step up your game, son)
For the writers and the exciters
In between the Twin Towers like
The Man on the Wire for the New Yorkers who
Be drivin' even though
The road be fuckin' up they tires
This the year we shuttin' down Rikers

And I like that shit the real life shit
Got every system pumpin'
On mamas son, they love it
We bakin' them cakes, we cookie cutter
I'm fresher than a New York sling
It's so butter how we
Write that shit, the real life shit
Got every system pumpin'
On mamas son, they love us
We bakin' them cakes, we cookie cutter
I'm fresher than a New York sling
It's so butter how we

(It's so gutter how we)