Say Something (alt version) Talib Kweli (Ft. Jean Grae)

{*opening the same as the break from Lords of the Underground's "Funky Child"*}

[Talib Kweli]
The year is 1975, Brooklyn, New York City
A child destined for greatness is born
Let's go

Get your hands in the air (get 'em up)
Put your hands in the air (put 'em up)
Get your hands in the air (get 'em up)
Put your hands in the air (put 'em up)

[Refrain]
Talk shit now (now... now... now... )
Talk shit now (now... now... now... )
Talk shit now (now... now... now... )
Talk shit now (now... now... now... )
Talk shit now (now... now... now... )
Say something, say something (what was that)
Say something (I dare you), say something

[Talib Kweli]
+The Lord Chief Rocka+ I'm colder than meatlockers
My people keep throwin it up like cheap vodka
I smack internet MC's and beat bloggers
You can see my +Black Thought+ like 'Riq Trotter
It's deep, go ahead and sleep, they know in the street
Kwe' gon flow on the beat proper composin complete operas
Longer than a cigar that's Godfather
Tappin' two heart chakras, I'm harder than Gobstoppers
People comin for the throne not knowin the seat hotter
Than fish grease, criminal names on police blotters
You convinced me, I hit targets like top shotters
Out in the mideast like Muslims takin Shahada
I'm sayin makin' a profit, a product of Reaganomics
Awake and I'm stayin conscious to radio playin garbage (yeh!)
Blacksmith Music, if you don't pay homage
I'mma show you how we break an artist
That's a threat, I'm not makin a promise
Speak to the people like Barack Obama
They worship like the black Madonna, c'mon
Niggas talk shit, but they ain't got skills
I'm the type of nigga to put lead in your grill
Number two pencil is sharper to bruise mentals, and
Beatin in my chest is the heart of a true gentleman
Still spit right in your face
Fuck a Top 8, back up, gimme my space, you're not safe