Project Jazz - Hell Razah, Talib Kweli, MF DOOM

Renaissance… Razah Rubies…*

Let’s go, tell 'em

I was born in the era of kings, of heroin dreams

Now it be a Maccabee, spreading my wings (spread 'em)

I ain’t trippin' off material bling

I analyze off of Billie Holiday, the queen

What was Marvin Gaye thinking when he wrote that theme

A Trouble Man, why his pops had a gun his hand, damn

Hip hop go to way back then

Diddy used to sing doo-wop with two of his friends

I seen an oo-wop when I was like ten, excited by sin

I got my first gold front from Ben

Eighty-nine, I was into Rakim, for dropping gems

Most niggas learned a lot from him

Grandma used to cook with sounds of Sam Cooke

Mid-60's, my moms then moved to Red

Same hood Al Capone was put, and got his rep as a crook

In them criminal books, we don’t look

A crack hit I could never forget

In '92 Mr. Daily was hit by gun clips

You had to pump if you wanted some kicks

The best product on the block, it was quicker to flip

We had whips, but it wasn’t legit

I reminisce, Calvin Klein, he was running the shit

'76 came a heavenly prince, with one gift

To uplift, by the name Charon Smith

Dedicated to Miss Caroline Smith

Special love and respect

To real true pioneers (yeah), people like Ray Charles (we in here)

Barry White, let’s get back into the hall of fame, come on

Yo, yo, it’s like we all just beef and the strengths

Son is blind like a boxer that bleed in the ring

From a cut opened up above his right eye

Body all black and blue, like the Brooklyn nice guy, uh

Bobbing and weaving, and dodging the propaganda

My raps take it back like shopping at Alexander’s

My momma had the fly afro, my father cooked for a week and left all us with the

casarole

We didn’t have much, but with a little bit of love

Made due with the little bit we had, yo

We in a new millennium, Granny still singing Hem Slow

Jim Crow’s still keep the blacks po'

Look we blessed with the power to move people with music

It’s the natural resources, and we use it to broadcast and transmit live from

hell

What don’t kill you, make you stronger, I’m allowed to tell

Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up, man

Yo, yo, make sure you write it on the wall

Make sure it say, Renaissance Child

Talib Kweli, MF Doom, written for the babies

Let’s go

Vik slick talk, with a cough full of North

Of course New York floss, don’t know and blew pork

Before you walk across, look both ways

The third and the fourth of them nowaday old phase

Kept a dog on a wooden leg and hustled all night in the fog on the red

Even dressed like a bum and could beg

Instead use the other on the strength, what a good head

Been bred to win, since headspins, ooh them gems

Spread too thin, depends on who’s losing

Heads do spin, it’s deaded, now who’s in?

Revenge all here, enough combined slang to bang all year

It’s on, like it ain’t never been on cordless before

Report for lawless, ports is off shore

With horses, hanging the tablets, mating with rappers

Habits til they hate 'em and had it, damn it

And it’s gone with the wind, dead wrong

A song, with a spin and a grin

Out of style, with the blow out for mild mannered smile

Like a foul wild Spaniard on the soul out

Vaughn, the one you trick-a-don

Why stick it, if you gotta slip a snicker on, Viktor Vaughn

Yeah, to all the Cadillac riders, and it’s on

As it was in the beginning, so shall it be in the end

All the fathers with the godfathers, hip hop lives forever and ever

And ever… this is something you gon' be able to pass down to your babies

From generation to generation, that’s right, aight?

One love… and we out of here