Dear Dilla [Reprise]

Q-TipQ-Tip 

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Q-Tip

Kamaal Ibn John Fareed (born Jonathan Davis on April 10, 1970), better known by his stage name Q-Tip, is an American hip hop artist from St. Albans, Queens, New York, part of the critically acclaimed group A Tribe Called Quest. John Bush of Allmusic called him "the best rapper/producer in hip-hop history," while editors of About.com placed him on their list of the Top 50 Hip-Hop Producers, as well as placing him on their list of the Top 50 MCs of Our Time (1987–2007). In 2012, The Source ranked him #20 on their list of the Top 50 Lyricists of All Time. more »

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Yo, what up, man?
Yo, what chorus you want me to do?
You-you said you want me to do a chorus
Which one? On which song?

Uh huh, Dear Dilla, bounce
Yeah, this a celebration, bounce
D-Town, throw it up
Celebration of life
NYC, throw it up
Smokin' Needles
The whole world, throw it up
BK

Hold tight, this ain't the last time I see you
Due time, that's my word, I'ma see you
Frontin' ass rappers now here stealin' issue
Posin' like they hard when we know they all see through
I'ma tell you, Dilla, why they lackin' skills now
No stage presence, cadence, style
They livin' off of hooks, skinny jean crooks
Pre-K lyrics, why would I need a book?
I reminisce, reminisce, when Mobb dropped shook
Shan was down by law, such a good look
Nas' God's Son, his return was Stillmatic
Distortion to Static, you and Slum Fantastic
Thought I'd chop you out, son, see how you're doin'
Come back to earth, homie, hip hop is in ruins
I'm a third of the Tribe but I'ma speak for the clique
What up though, we miss you, kid
Motor City say

(Dear Dilla) It's not a day that goes by
That I don't think 'bout you
(Dear Dilla) I keep my head to the sky
'Cause I know Phife's there too
(Dear Dilla) And when I get there
God willing, your music will move out of space
(Dear Dilla) And y'all both left 'em all
'Cause no one takes your place

Yo, yo, beat-wise, you still that cat which most shit be measured
I'm that MC known to share his displeasure
With the route the game was taking, how mundane things have gotten
You know music on a whole, never mind just hip-hoppin'
I'm in the club, three hours and change
DJ spinnin' Top 40, we be hearin' all day
Some MCs are catalog, and yeah, they stay paid
But why pay over one buck, when they lip syncin' on stage?
King of pop, Barry White, rollin' over in they grave
Jones Girls, Emotions singin' back in our day
Dilla dudes still bitin', they wish to be like you
Producer extraordinaires, knowing their beats be recycled
But on your worst day, they couldn't mess with you
Cats makin' Ts in remembrance of you
Least they could do is give your fam a dime or two
This man gave his heart, this what the 'uck y'all do?
But yo, don't stress my youth, word bond, we got you
Tell Baatin I said what's up, word, he right next to you?
So NYC to the D with heavy hearts we miss you
Word, God wish you were here, so until we meet again just

(Dear Dilla) It's not a day that goes by
That I don't think 'bout you
(Dear Dilla) I keep my head to the sky
'Cause I know Phife's there too
(Dear Dilla) And when I get there
God willing, your music will move out of space
(Dear Dilla) And y'all both left 'em all
'Cause no one takes your place
(Dear Dilla)

I'ma tell you, Dilla
D-Town, throw it up
You dun know, Ma Dukes
V. Rich on the keys
My main man DJ Rasta Roots on the beat, on the cuts
Smokin Needles, Riddim Kids, salute
ATCQ forever
Peace

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