Music Video
God Lives Through
Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Ali Shaheed Jones-Muhammad
DJ
Busta Rhymes
Sampled Artist
Phife Dawg
Vocals
Q-Tip
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Ali Shaheed Jones-Muhammad
Songwriter
Kamaal Fareed
Songwriter
Malik Izaak Taylor
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
A Tribe Called Quest
Producer
Tim Latham
Engineer
Brad Schmidt
Assistant Engineer
Chris Flam
Assistant Engineer
Eric Gast
Assistant Engineer
George Spatta
Assistant Engineer
Gerard Julien
Assistant Engineer
Hoover Le
Assistant Engineer
Patrick Derivaz
Assistant Engineer
Pete Christensen
Assistant Engineer
Tom Coyne
Mastering Engineer
Lyrics
[Intro]
Oh my God
Oh my God
Oh my God
Oh my God
Oh my God
Oh my God
Oh my God
Oh my God
Oh my God
Oh my God
Oh my God
Oh my God
Oh my God
Oh my God
Oh my God
Oh my God
[Verse 1]
There's a million MC's that claim they want some
But see, I create sounds that make your ears go numb
Peace to Sayers Ave., yeah, you know how we go
My best friend Steven at the Home Depot
Lowerton is in the house, I can't forget Southside
Walk past MC's like that girl did the Pharcyde
I'm labeled as the cat's meow, the MC with the know-how
Act like you know, not now, but right now
Beast of the East, on MC's I have a feast
I'd eat that ass like quiche, crack a smile like Shanice
Straight out Jamaica, seen? Jamaica, Queens
But you could find me out in Georgia, or anywhere in between
Now if my partners don't look good, Malik won't look good
If Malik don't look good, then Quest won't look good
If the Quest don't look good, then Queens won't look good
But since our sounds are universal, New York won't look good
Picture Phife losin' a battle, come on, get off it
Put down the microphone son, surrender forfeit
Did I hear somethin 'bout a crew? What they wanna do?
You better call Mr. Babyface, so he can bring out "The Cool in You"
Or it'll be a sad love song bein' sung by Toni Braxton
And I'll dissect you like a fraction
Oh, you wannabe top cat MC's, I'll pop you like a zit
You wanna be the champ, you more like Chief Some-shit
Big up myself everytime when it comes to this
MC's be runnin' scared as if they're watchin' the Exorcist
I kick more game than a crackhead from Hempstead
My styles are milk, man, you'd think that I was breast fed
You know the steelo when the diggy dawg is on the scene
I dedicate this to all the MC's outta Queens
That goes for Onyx, LL, Run-D.M.C
Akinyele, Nasty Nas and the Extra P
You need a chart, straight up and down, man, there ain't no other
'Nuff respect to all my peeps that made the album cover
Yo, Tip, don't worry none, you know I get the party jumpin'
Get on the mic and break em off a lil', lil' somethin'
Yo, Tip, don't worry none, you know I get the party jumpin'
Get on the mic, my man, and break em off a lil' somethin'
[Chorus]
Ooh, la, la, la, la
Doop, doo, do, do
La, la, la, la
Shooby-doop, do, do
La, la, la, la
Shooby-doop, do, do
You know I'm on the other, for the top 40
Haha, you gotta do it like this
[Verse 2]
We got the funk doody don shit, clearly it's the bomb shit
So recognize me, kids memorize me
Everyday, I be scroungin', really, I be loungin'
I play the down low, very-very incognito
Aries is my sign, I know that I can rhyme
Sometimes I rhyme in riddles, plus I make the hunnies wiggle
Intellect is the major, some heads like to wager
The skills on the hill, overlookin' dollar bills
Man, ya crazy, thinkin' you can phase me
The Ab doesn't study near nonsense, money
Life seems to meet me, MC's seem too cheesy
With they doody ass renditions of defeatin' competition
I rock to the roll man, yes, I'm a soul man
Bet'cha bottom dolla, Vinia will make ya holla
As ya stand at attention, did I forget to mention
MC's will give me twenty, if I sense that they act funny
Lyrics are abundant, right there, I sound redundant
Just mentionin' the fact, that the area is fat
I dwell in the under, so honey, it's no wonder
That I get plenty of tail, well, I even get white
I'ma bet hittin' head crack, there money, take that
Breakin' **** off, cut their bank, then I'm off
While my Nikes match my lil' hat, beat joint is mad fat
Got the cutter of the box if a kid thinks he's ox
For tier means creator, the poetry relator
It's hemp, like Betsy Ross, let me tell you who's the boss
[Chorus]
La, la, la
La, la, la
La, la, la (Smooth it out, y'all)
[Chorus]
La, la, la
La, la, la
La, la, la
La, la, la
La, la, la
[Bridge]
Queens got us
Brooklyn got us
Bronx got us
Staten Island got us
Long Island got the zone
[Bridge]
Jersey got us
Philly got us
Milwaukee got us
L.A. got us
Oaktown got the zone
[Outro]
La, la, la
La, la, la
La, la, la
La, la, la
See I like to get down, Jack
Written by: A. Muhammad, John Davis, M. Taylor
