Holy Moly

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 & Tony'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 NEWWW YAWK

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 niggaz 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 niggaz die, it's like a stop loss

Hood niggaz 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?