Song parody of
Too Late [DVD]
by Talib Kweli
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Yo, when the bass thump, the place jump
Like it's way crunk, yeah,
Fake punks get they face lumped
Sent to the most high, by the most fit
You gotta do, fuck that almost shit
The fam is close knit
You diggin', know the clock don't stop tickin'
Glocks still spittin', the whole block politickin'
Lik epresidents with they minds dead on arrival
Leaving no evidence of a struggle for survival
Songs relevant to the times like the psalms read in the Bible
Stepping to this leaves thoughts in your head 'it's suicidal'
It's the T to the A-L-I-be the deep rooter
Rolling with my Wannabattle cats with Chief Buddha
And see through the overspecialized
Underpressurized
No lie texturized
Emcees who got the masses mesmerized
With empty rhetoric
They better quit
NIggas so hollow that they echo like sentiments
[Chorus: x6]
Nowadays rap artists coming halfhearted
Commercial like pop, or underground like black markets
Where were you when hiphop died?
Is it too early to mourn? Is it too late to ride?
Kwa is chillin', Tone is chillin'
What more can I say, we stay building
And make killings
Take children through the wilderness, by the hand
It's a great feeling, show 'em how to be a man
Exactly, pack trees in my khakis
My sound fat like a knee
While you thin like a Mackey
Come on, shine so bright when I walk by
You got ta squint like the motherfucking sun in your eye
What! Say something
You stay fronting
It ain't nothing, let off like I'm big game hunting
Me and Tek stay way blunted
Wave running on beaches with white sand
With a slight tan
Smack the mic stand with my right hand
When I'm excited
Leave you so far in the dust that you forced to bite it
On fire like property lost to riots
Yo, ain't no stopping us when we all united
[Chorus]
Yo, when the bass thump, the place jump
Like it's way crunk, yeah,
Fake punks get they face lumped
Sent to the most high, by the most fit
You gotta do, fuck that almost shit
The fam is close knit
You diggin', know the clock don't stop tickin'
Glocks still spittin', the whole block politickin'
Lik epresidents with they minds dead on arrival
Leaving no evidence of a struggle for survival
Songs relevant to the times like the psalms read in the Bible
Stepping to this leaves thoughts in your head 'it's suicidal'
It's the T to the A-L-I-be the deep rooter
Rolling with my Wannabattle cats with Chief Buddha
And see through the overspecialized
Underpressurized
No lie texturized
Emcees who got the masses mesmerized
With empty rhetoric
They better quit
NIggas so hollow that they echo like sentiments
[Chorus: x6]
Nowadays rap artists coming halfhearted
Commercial like pop, or underground like black markets
Where were you when hiphop died?
Is it too early to mourn? Is it too late to ride?
Kwa is chillin', Tone is chillin'
What more can I say, we stay building
And make killings
Take children through the wilderness, by the hand
It's a great feeling, show 'em how to be a man
Exactly, pack trees in my khakis
My sound fat like a knee
While you thin like a Mackey
Come on, shine so bright when I walk by
You got ta squint like the motherfucking sun in your eye
What! Say something
You stay fronting
It ain't nothing, let off like I'm big game hunting
Me and Tek stay way blunted
Wave running on beaches with white sand
With a slight tan
Smack the mic stand with my right hand
When I'm excited
Leave you so far in the dust that you forced to bite it
On fire like property lost to riots
Yo, ain't no stopping us when we all united
[Chorus]
