Final Call

Hook [Deacon] Call of the night Call of the industry Carry us all away X 2 [Verse 1: Sheisty Khrist] This nigga asked me was I rap's savior I gave him some dap told him perhaps later Rap was built on the backs our black labor That's why I attack like a trapped gator I'm the black Ralph Nader The Alpha and the Beta more powerful than haters, you feel me? They tapped my phone and scoured through the data And cowered when I said I was an hour from Decatur They thought I said I was the power of al Qaeda And that me and bin Laden were in Saudi Arabia This the return of Ramesses In a tam on a sham from the ram species From 3000 B.C Listening to mp3's of three lectures by the man Nietzsche Just me by myself in an Inipi Pondering the oil wealth of BP Listen I often think about the Motherland, but quickly snap back like a rubber band And no offense to my brother man But brother how in the fuck can you be a black Republican? Nah I know they say it's the party of Lincoln I drove a Lincoln to a party then I started drinking And after each Bacardi drink I think I started sinking Until my eyes were no longer blinking, nigga My nigga Natti say "Bright Lights, Big City," Got me looking for a white dyke with big titties Instead a mannequin lifelike, surreal, bitty Interrupted by a knife fight real gritty The night life is still shitty Where only the night lights could make a knife fight feel pretty. A pity Instrumental break [Willie Eames lead] [Verse 2: Deacon The Villain] This man asked me if I was rap's slayer I chucked him the deuce, told him perhaps greater Rap was built over wax and a black fader Now it's black like the hearts of its plaque makers Ask those scaling raps himilaya About distress signals sent wrapped in a prayer They had their humble eyes sat upon vega But to stay they gotta live inside our laps like a geisha Where's Lauryn Hill, where's Hendrix Where's Thelonious Monk, where's trendless Muddy Waters and a dirty telecaster This the new age, slaves ain't gotta sell masters A master's all about what sells faster They don't care if rap walks inside hell backwards Bend the rules, keep the power and gold crowns We gon' to shout round these walls till they go down [Outro: Bianca Spriggs] Drink to the unmarked graves of discarded lyrics buried in forgotten notebooks Drink to the unanswered prayers of one-hit-wonder beats Drink to rock star dreams To cogs caught in the metropolis machine To those who'd spill blood for a mic, we drink To those who'd stand out by sitting down at the keys, we drink Drink to sixteen bars, a killer hook and a slant rhyme scheme To staying up through silver lined nights Chasing down a north star pulse To being the master of our own signal flares Our own talking drums We drink to tomorrow Always To tomorrow