Soul Food (A Hip Hop Duet With Boiwundah/Funky Town Pros)

[Intro]
Probably the most important thing I’ll say
To you youngsters all evening is what I’m fixing to say to you now
And that is simply-

[Verse 1: Boiwundah]
Godly put with the poet with the soul food
D E F Jef
In common with wonder cause I’m in a mind binder
My people got it together
But they forgot where they put it
The rap thoroughbred and the rhyme drum dropper
Salt on the slug is what we giving you a drop of
So keep it moving, sit between the grooves and
Ride the record till the needle cuts yo’ head off

[Verse 2: Def Jef]
Soul food to feed the inner need and the growing greed
I breathe the mind and redefine the rhyme and lead the line
Like a frontman, not a stuntman I don’t take dives
I just take five minutes to make live
Records keep hungry hip hoppers healthy and well-fed
Lyrics well said, styles are years ahead
Like Egyptian inscriptions to be specific hieroglyphics
On walls of pyramids black man power lifted
Scientific? Yeah
I got stacks of facts and dope tracks and Hootie Macks
So light it, relaxed
You’ve been fed bull, your head’s full of additives and preservatives
And that makes your lip service nervous and conservative
So I’m servin’ this Soul Food platter with a big beat
Dope rhyme schemes not ham hocks, greens, or pig feet
No swinin’ and dinin’, just timin’ and rhymin’
The rhythm is rollin, I’m holdin’, the crowd in control
And I’m giving them soul and spirit and lyrics you hear it
You get inspired or get in the mood to write a rhyme
Or bite a line of this Soul Food

[Interlude]
Fa-facts, and collard greens
That’s what's been told
Do you really understand what we talkin’ bout’?
Do you really understand what we talkin’ bout’?

[Verse 3: Boiwundah]
The mic’s my reality dagger
Stick the sucker, he’ll stagger
Fall to the ground
Make sure he ain’t brown
Now look at the hellbound drowned
Body funkytown
Founder I be bustin’ heads like walnuts
But all cuts come from
Dev on the kick drum
Cymbal snare drum samples and horns
Soon as he gets warm
I get on stage and know we’re gonna perform
A self-seminar
My thoughts torment
My mind’s my mentor
Landscapes outdoor, mentally we’re indoor
Our mission is often missed
To reincarnate a wish
To say we living like a piano that ain’t the realest
Harmony never dawned on me
Communication a large technicality
Segregation, reality
Love and peace analogy
Truth, my artillery
To obey is the big law
Then what’s the jigsaw?
Our numbers are going down
Yo, I don’t dig y’all
In the bright house
Trying to save the white mouse
Killed the rodent
That’s bold and cruel
Pale attitude to unload on a black dude
Then pick up a tool and wanna’ try our soul food
Ingredients is bits
And pieces of late
Releases mixed
Put on a table so our own kind can eat this
I need to feed this I gots’ to teach this
To the young and hungry that need this
You can’t define me
You’re scared to sign me
You’d rather pick up those who are left behind me
So many are parachuting from my altitude
They just can’t digest my soul food

[Interlude]
Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh
Let me tell you something before we leave real-

[Verse 4: Def Jef]
I keep my brain fed
With soul food knowledge
So I don’t end up brain dead
My mind stays opened up
To everything from poetry to current events
What works against me
So I know what I’m up against
And when they ask the purpose of the plan
I plan to pull off
I reply with a plate o’ soul food
They get full off
Funkin with funkytown pros
They some down bros
Mixed with the poet of soul
And the sound goal
That shows the power of the black collective mind
Connecting lines to form effective rhymes (huh)
It’s a sign of the times when the kings meet
Let the truth be told in its whole
You been led down the yellow brick road too long
And those lies about your people they’ve been told too long
How you know that Adam and Eve ain’t a fable
You said you don’t give a damn, but you don’t look like Clark Gable
You ain’t stable or able to stand in this land on yo’ lonesome
Till’ you own some
So if you’re in the mood to be taught
Cop a squat and bust a poet with soul
Food for thought

[Outro]

They got more in the ghettos than this thing called soul
Fa-facts and collard greens, that's what’s been told
Do you really understand what we talkin’ ‘bout?