[Verse 1: Q-Tip]
We don’t believe you ’cause we the people
Are still here in the rear, ayo, we don’t need you,
You in the killing-off-good-young-nigga mood,
When we get hungry we eat the same fuckin’ food,
The ramen noodle!
Your simple voodoo is so maniacal, we’re liable to pull a juju,
The irony is that this bad bitch in my lap,
She don’t love me, she make money, she don’t study that,
She gon’ give it to me, ain’t gon’ tell me run it back,
She gon’ take the brain to wetter plains, she spit on that.
The doors have signs with, don’t try to rhyme with,
VH1 has a show that you can waste your time with,
Guilty pleasures take the edge off reality
And for a salary, I’d probably do that shit sporadically.
The OG Gucci boots are smitten with iguanas,
The IRS piranha see a nigga gettin’ commas,
Niggas in the hood livin’ in a fishbowl,
Gentrify here, now it’s not a shit hole.
Trendsetter, I know, my shit’s cold,
Ain’t settlin’ because I ain’t so bold but, ay!
[Chorus: Q-Tip]
All you Black folks, you must go,
All you Mexicans, you must go,
And all you poor folks, you must go,
Muslims and gays, boy, we hate your ways!
So all you bad folks, you must go.
[Bridge: Phife Dawg & Q-Tip]
The fog and the smog of news media that logs
False narratives of Gods that came up against the odds.
We’re not just nigga rappers with the bars,
It’s kismet that we’re cosmic with the stars.
[Verse 2: Phife Dawg]
You bastards overlookin’ street art,
Better yet, street smarts but you keep us off the charts,
So mothafuck your numbers and your statisticians,
Fuck y’all know about true competition?
That’s like a AL pitcher on deck talkin’ ‘bout he hittin’,
The only one who’s hittin’ are the ones that’s currently spittin’.
We got your missy smitten rubbin’ on her little kitten
Dreamin’ of a world that’s equal for women with no division.
Boy, I tell you that’s vision,
Like Tony Romo when he hittin’ Witten.
The Tribe be the best in they division,
Shaheed Muhammad cut it with precision,
Who can come back years later, still hit the shot?
Still them tryna move we off the fuckin’ block.
Babylon, bloodclot!
Two pon yuh headtop!
[Chorus: Q-Tip]
All you Black folks, you must go,
All you Mexicans, you must go,
And all you poor folks, you must go,
Muslims and gays, boy, we hate your ways!
So all you bad folks, you must go.