text: 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 its 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 its gettin lonely
  Kids is hungry and you lookin like a steak from Nick & Tonis
  But dont 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, thats pre-Badu
  Bet you Garnett Reid got a Matt Doo tattoo
  Sometimes I feel like Im 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 dont give a fuck though
  And disrespect the legacy of Justo
  What the blood claat? No, let the blood flow
  You aint come to pay your respect, then what you come fo?
  Too many good niggas die, its like a stop loss
  Hood niggas ghetto like fried wings and hot sauce
  How you hard? The cops lettin 50 shots off
  Baby Jay-Zs with the knockoff Scott Storch beat
  You are not Short, you are not Katt
  Youre 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 cant 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
  Youre still here cause youre livin through me
  Youre like a gift God has given to me
  Uh, uh, uh, what?