[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 f** 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, b**h
Ghost, Talib and Jean Grae
X-Men of hip hop, and still rock harder than Green Day
Cla**ic 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, n***a!)
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 -- who*es 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 sh**
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 f** 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]