Truth had me up against the ropes
And semi-conscious without no boxing skills.
Pharoahe Monch, “The Truth,” Internal Affairs, 1999
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Truth had me up against the ropes
And semi-conscious without no boxing skills.
New York City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty in the midst of the calm, the witty.
Truth brings light, light refracts off the mirror,
Visions of yourself and error could never be clearer.
The truth is that you ugly…
Not on the outside, but in the inside;
On the outside, you frontin’ you lovely.
I have a dream:
One day we will get to the promised land.
Then the president will be me,
The government will be Shabaam, Mos and Kweli…that’s it!
All wackness is now banned.
Funny how things change when you got a liquor in ya:
You’re quicker with the tongue, givin’ me rhythm now.
Block the music and the people out to admire the love,
The nerve of us…impervious to the entire club.
And like marijuana shotguns, let’s blow this joint,
It’s pointless to stay here, so let me anoint.
The last batter to hit, blast shattered your hip,
Smash any splitter or fastball—that’ll be it.
Time is real, we can’t rewind it…
Out of everybody I met, who told the truth?
Time did.