True Lightyears

Lyrics

[Chorus: MF DOOM + sample] Ash-hadu Al-laaa Ilaaha Illa-llaahu Wahdahoo Laa Shareeka Lahoo Wa ("Ash-hadu Al-laaa Ilaaha Illa-llaahu") Rock, rock, y'all, between the tick-tock, y'all [Verse 1: Jay Electronica] I came out the Magnolia like the beetle The genie of the incense smoke from the church steeple Mixed with the prayers of the people ("Ash-hadu") Pollination, Subhanahu wa ta'ala Nation Global recalibration, Roc Nation causing shock waves in the basement 7,000 kHz With every verse I heal the Earth With every line, I drop the tears of man into a cloud In a fine mist until it bursts And rain from the brain, snowflakes for the pain The flow is just so insane, we wondering why you came Here's a jewel, son: be yourself Quit looking like someone else, get your dignity off the shelf The true Jedi code is stealth, stay in tune with whatever else The Asiatic galactic master of the atlas Author of mathematics, civilized the savage, terrorized the clerics Big black chief like Robert Parish I broke the deputy neck while Metal Face shot the sheriff ("Ash-hadu") Soul rebel in the deadly bout with the devil Conquerin' every level, the best part is where I settle Spread love through every ghetto, plus suburbia Me over the track is a acquisition, a merger couldn't be any further Woke the game up into a fervor then disappeared like the burglar The style you never heard of, the very premise is murder But sweeter than a Werther's, roam the Earth like Bedouins and Berbers The great ancient goat herder, emerging through your server [Chorus] Ash-hadu Al-laaa Ilaaha Illa-llaahu Wahdahoo Laa Shareeka Lahoo Wa ("Ash-hadu Al-laaa Ilaaha Illa-llaahu") Rock, rock, y'all, between the tick-tock, y'all [Verse 2: MF DOOM] DOOM out the vortex to your neocortex Your guess who spit the rawness is good as GORE-TEX Metal Face turtleneck vest, built to support bras Standard issue for broads, carbon like your sports car Anybody ask—he retired Tried to hold the Villain to task—he was fired Fired up, his own boss on strike Accused of using hot pepper sauce on the mic Get tossed on a spike or cross if you like So be cautious, leave 'em nauseous as pork sausages Salami and some bacon, some bacon and some ham Plans get mistaken for a scam – ah, damn, fam Bless the child who hold his own, none could master respect Soundwave transform like Rumble, Ratchet eject ("Ash-hadu") It's more secret than Al Gore's wallet Or Val Thor's comet or Style Wars, bomb it Or that gal of yours' armpit, darn it ("Wahdahoo Laa Shareeka Lahoo") I promise