RIP

[Verse 1: Styles P]

Make your movie in HD, bet you it ain't a saga

Me, I'm a slinger; you a singer like Lady Gaga

I could see through you 'bout as clear as Ciroc Vodka

Knock out your teeth with the back of the mic proper

I don't give a fuck about a chopper

Leave you in the doctor; I-Pod filled with Big Poppa

Make sixteens I call Oscars for actors

Get in your neck and your back like chiropractors

I'm so nice I could give you a fact backwards

"Out hardest the is Ghost", keep your kids close

Sick when I was nine years old, ask my kinfolk

My people been broke, a couple been rich

If rap was jail, I'd be running the whole pen, bitch

Ghost, Talib and Jean Grae

X-Men of hip hop, and still rock harder than Green Day

Classic like vinyl but let the machines spray

[Hook: Talib Kweli]

Come on peel a bill off the knot, in ya pocket

Be a super star at the bar, we 'bout to lock it down

Got green in the black sacks of chocolate

Stop it, before you say something that's out of pocket

Rock, rock, drop it in the pocket

Rock, rock, drop it in the pocket

Rock, rock, drop it in the pocket

Rock, rock, drop it in the pocket

[Verse 2: Jean Grae]

(Get your rock out of my pocket, nigga!)

No it's not...like Charlie Brown who got a {ROCK!}

In his pocket trick or treating, I mean I'm a medium

For leaking heat, a freaking genie, Jean's a genius

You idiots, I'm mean to you, sweetie and I'm a queen

I don't swing open like Lamborghini doors do -- whores do

My job is to floor you, block you and ignore you

Pop you like a blocked call, I'm like Rockmore

You watching me like Rockwell's pop song just popped on

(Your lockjaw's a good thing) I'm glad I put the hammer to it

My handlers will handle this (Ma'am, she didn't do it)

Yeah, what they said, don't want no arraignments rocking round

That would be worse than K-Fed doing "PopoZao"

Right in my momma's house with his little rocket out

Jesus! Wet my fingers and just stick 'em in the socket now (Please)

I'd rather be dead than watch wack shit

Color me gone, fill in the dirt, tell 'em I kicked... ten buckets

And it's all your fault, I'm rotting

Shouldn'ta done that, lied about rocking

Huh, it's all your fault I'm rotting

You shouldn'ta done that, lied about rocking

[Hook]

[Verse Three: Talib Kweli]

What is it? ... What, is you tryin to lose your life?

Ancient wisdom like Druids but I'm foolish on the mic

Flow the truest, undisputed cause I do it how I like

It's the crack so the fiends' lips is bluish from the pipe

Nice try, you ain't fly, you lying on the ProTools

Yeah, your vocals mighta flew but you local like Q

Applying these old rules to new dudes don't work

Even though they softer than yogurt, and covert

If you don't work you don't eat

You fuck around and get higher than a nosebleed seat, try to compete

Ya done beat yourself before ya even started

E'rybody knows you don't go full retarded, bogus artists

Rock the stage, you going off the page and making no sense

The way I do these rappers so ugly the flow is grotesque

Your flow is Kotex, it's no contest

You a foe, unidentified flying object

[Hook]