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]