[Talib Kweli]
Attention, players
The rules of the game have now changed
People are no longer afraid of the truth
You call yourself an MC? (Hi-Tek, hit 'em with the...!)
Hi-Tek on the boards, Kweli in the booth
(Make 'em feel it in they bones with the...!)
Come down, yo...
Like, oh my God, what do we have here?
My man is on Fire like the Ohio Players
Throw yo' hands in the air, keep 'em there if you with me
The MPC-60 is rare, but it still sound cripsy
Kicks and snares, taken from elsewhere, samples is hard to find
We don't just act divine – we are
We walkin' upright, you lack spine
I don't just write rhymes
I send force through pipelines to like minds
My light shine so bright it do be, vital like lifesigns
The night time is the right time for a battle, so it's special
When cats don't just say your joint is hot, cats say, "Yo, I respect you"
Put yo' fist in the air when you hear the manifesto
You had any prior doubts to my skills? Time to let go
Hi-Tek, the beats is ripe inside your soundgarden
Tracks get in the vein like heroin, the way heads be noddin' – officially,
People love our company like they was misery
I'm known to blast MC's with the canon of history
Specifically, the ones who forgot where they come from
So it's the light that they run from, like roaches
Whenever the truth approaches
I attack the track ferocious, never lose my focus,
Hold this true Hip-Hop closest to my heart, and you know this
Nowadays, it's hopeless, and my diagnosis
Is to grab the microphone and be the dopest, you could quote this
Niggas sound like they injected with collagen
You followin' these hollow men, no honor when
You bite off more than you could chew, or could be swallowin'
Sorry, man – I ain't got no pity for you to wallow in
Quit hollerin', before you get stomped out with my Solomon's
All the way from Lyn Street, to Jerolamen
Always bringin you hot shit – aiyyo, we promisin'
[Outro: Common sample, scratched by Hi-Tek]
"Dissect it, I'm on more high-tech shit – computers wanna bite"
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