[Verse 1: Wyclef Jean]
(Come on)
Root to the fruit
More bass than Bootsy Collins
You versus me
Thats like Ali verses Foreman (a-ha)
God's act, stand back and watch
Devil's time out
Can't be timed with no swatch watch
Who I am, the black Abraham
Zunga zunga zang, yellow man, Vietnam
Add an extra bar as I spar with literature
Taking kingdoms from tsars
Winning more wars than the Moors
[Verse 2: John Forté]
Now what's the deal star?
I seen the Devil spar with Allah
Mathematics was the key to set my whole race free
You might debate we, a refugee
No harm hurt me
Dying, thirsty from the struggle
To my own hustle bubble
On the low, woe is me
To show the Free Bob right
The righteous Asiatic thinker
While Satan rob light
Civilized like the Mali
Burgundy, wildy rocking
Seen the fifth when Ali clocked him
John Forte he'll keep you locked in
[Verse 3: Q-Tip]
People all around
You got to recognize and witness
The Mister who swift enough to knock you out with Mic fitness
Hands blistered from holding the mics tight
Some say it's fight night
Well throw the R after the F cause I'ma take away your breath
The bell rings and now it's just a daily operation
Yo, you soft like lubrication
You can see this occupation (The winner)
And you know we hail from Q-Borough
L-Boogs and Clef the trainers, Prazwell promotes the thorough
[Verse 4: Lauryn Hill]
We used to bite the bullets with the pig-skin casing
Now we perfect slang like a gang of street masons (uh)
Scribe checks, make connects
True pyramid architects (yeah)
Replace the last name with the X (X)
The man's got a God complex
But take the text, change the picture
Watch Muhammad play the messenger like Holy Muslim scriptures
Take orders from only God
Only war when it's Jihad
See Ali appears in Zaire to reconnect 400 years
So we the people, dark but equal, give love to such things
To the man who made the fam' remember when we were kings
[Hook: Lauryn Hill]
Blocks on fire (Block's on fire tonight)
Fiends getting higher (uh-huh)
Robbing blue collar
(Hey yo we rob them blue collars)
Killing for a dollar (Stick 'em up)
See youths get tired (Ali ah yeah)
Dealing with them liars (Ali ah yeah)
(We're dealing with too many liars)
From Brooklyn to Zaire (uh-huh ah yeah)
We need a ghetto Messiah (ah yeah come on)
[Chorus: Lauryn Hill]
Send me an angel in the morning, baby
Send me an angel in the morning, darling
Send me Muhammad in the morning, baby
Send me an angel in the morning, darling
[Verse 5: Phife Dawg]
Once the pen hits the pad it's danger
To this I be no stranger
Step inside the ring and I'll derange ya' (Come on)
I'm hearing no comments, everyone looks despondent
Dejected, rejected similar to Liston Catching licks
Beat it, Sonny
My man is still the greatest in this
To hell with Frazier, yapping' about that negative shit
Now listen, you can try and escape if you want to
But ask yourself, who the hell you gonna' run to?
Like Sade Adu, you got a punch that I can sleep to
Fugees, Tribe, Busta Rhymes forever coming through
[Verse 6: Pras]
We sing Amazing Grace over two dollar plates
One roll, snake eyes like Jake The Snake
Many lies put up for stakes, wash our sins at the Great Lakes
You and I cannot see eye to eye, so therefore we can't relate
I'm here, when I make myself crystal clear
You fled to Cape Fear when I laced you up in Zaire
Tussle with a lasso in the Royal Rumble
Separate boys from men in the concrete jungle
[Verse 7: Busta Rhymes]
I remember when Cassius Clay flipped the script
Taking trips to Zimbabwe
Africans started calling the God, Ali Bumbaye (so bwoy)
So bright, it be the God stricken
God nutrition, lightly stricken (ha)
Blows that feel like you was poison bitten
Ha, yo, I'm 'bout to blister you and your sister
Predicting every ass whipping before my fights my nigga
This be your last warning once you walk right past the doorman
Ali and Foreman gonna' lock ass until the morning
Marvel finances provided by Joseph Mobutu
Special guests of honour like the Archbishop Desmond Tutu
We watched the Rumble In The Jungle
To see who be the targeted uncle, to be the first to fall and fumble
'Nuff blows they getting thrown, like solid milestones
Internally shaking up niggas, imbalance your chromosones
With the force of a thousand warriors
When I bust your ass, identify me as the lord victorious
[Hook: Lauryn Hill]
Blocks on fire (You're a star)
(Blocks on fire)
Dudes getting higher (You're a star)
Robbing blue collar (You're a star)
(Yeah rob them blue collars)
Killing for a dollar (You're a star)
See people get tired (You're a star)
(Youths getting tired)
Of dealing with them liars (You're a star)
(We're dealing with too many liars)
From Brooklyn to Zaire (You're a star)
We need a ghetto Messiah
(Come on)
Root to the fruit
More bass than Bootsy Collins
You versus me
Thats like Ali verses Foreman (a-ha)
God's act, stand back and watch
Devil's time out
Can't be timed with no swatch watch
Who I am, the black Abraham
Zunga zunga zang, yellow man, Vietnam
Add an extra bar as I spar with literature
Taking kingdoms from tsars
Winning more wars than the Moors
[Verse 2: John Forté]
Now what's the deal star?
I seen the Devil spar with Allah
Mathematics was the key to set my whole race free
You might debate we, a refugee
No harm hurt me
Dying, thirsty from the struggle
To my own hustle bubble
On the low, woe is me
To show the Free Bob right
The righteous Asiatic thinker
While Satan rob light
Civilized like the Mali
Burgundy, wildy rocking
Seen the fifth when Ali clocked him
John Forte he'll keep you locked in
[Verse 3: Q-Tip]
People all around
You got to recognize and witness
The Mister who swift enough to knock you out with Mic fitness
Hands blistered from holding the mics tight
Some say it's fight night
Well throw the R after the F cause I'ma take away your breath
The bell rings and now it's just a daily operation
Yo, you soft like lubrication
You can see this occupation (The winner)
And you know we hail from Q-Borough
L-Boogs and Clef the trainers, Prazwell promotes the thorough
[Verse 4: Lauryn Hill]
We used to bite the bullets with the pig-skin casing
Now we perfect slang like a gang of street masons (uh)
Scribe checks, make connects
True pyramid architects (yeah)
Replace the last name with the X (X)
The man's got a God complex
But take the text, change the picture
Watch Muhammad play the messenger like Holy Muslim scriptures
Take orders from only God
Only war when it's Jihad
See Ali appears in Zaire to reconnect 400 years
So we the people, dark but equal, give love to such things
To the man who made the fam' remember when we were kings
[Hook: Lauryn Hill]
Blocks on fire (Block's on fire tonight)
Fiends getting higher (uh-huh)
Robbing blue collar
(Hey yo we rob them blue collars)
Killing for a dollar (Stick 'em up)
See youths get tired (Ali ah yeah)
Dealing with them liars (Ali ah yeah)
(We're dealing with too many liars)
From Brooklyn to Zaire (uh-huh ah yeah)
We need a ghetto Messiah (ah yeah come on)
[Chorus: Lauryn Hill]
Send me an angel in the morning, baby
Send me an angel in the morning, darling
Send me Muhammad in the morning, baby
Send me an angel in the morning, darling
[Verse 5: Phife Dawg]
Once the pen hits the pad it's danger
To this I be no stranger
Step inside the ring and I'll derange ya' (Come on)
I'm hearing no comments, everyone looks despondent
Dejected, rejected similar to Liston Catching licks
Beat it, Sonny
My man is still the greatest in this
To hell with Frazier, yapping' about that negative shit
Now listen, you can try and escape if you want to
But ask yourself, who the hell you gonna' run to?
Like Sade Adu, you got a punch that I can sleep to
Fugees, Tribe, Busta Rhymes forever coming through
[Verse 6: Pras]
We sing Amazing Grace over two dollar plates
One roll, snake eyes like Jake The Snake
Many lies put up for stakes, wash our sins at the Great Lakes
You and I cannot see eye to eye, so therefore we can't relate
I'm here, when I make myself crystal clear
You fled to Cape Fear when I laced you up in Zaire
Tussle with a lasso in the Royal Rumble
Separate boys from men in the concrete jungle
[Verse 7: Busta Rhymes]
I remember when Cassius Clay flipped the script
Taking trips to Zimbabwe
Africans started calling the God, Ali Bumbaye (so bwoy)
So bright, it be the God stricken
God nutrition, lightly stricken (ha)
Blows that feel like you was poison bitten
Ha, yo, I'm 'bout to blister you and your sister
Predicting every ass whipping before my fights my nigga
This be your last warning once you walk right past the doorman
Ali and Foreman gonna' lock ass until the morning
Marvel finances provided by Joseph Mobutu
Special guests of honour like the Archbishop Desmond Tutu
We watched the Rumble In The Jungle
To see who be the targeted uncle, to be the first to fall and fumble
'Nuff blows they getting thrown, like solid milestones
Internally shaking up niggas, imbalance your chromosones
With the force of a thousand warriors
When I bust your ass, identify me as the lord victorious
[Hook: Lauryn Hill]
Blocks on fire (You're a star)
(Blocks on fire)
Dudes getting higher (You're a star)
Robbing blue collar (You're a star)
(Yeah rob them blue collars)
Killing for a dollar (You're a star)
See people get tired (You're a star)
(Youths getting tired)
Of dealing with them liars (You're a star)
(We're dealing with too many liars)
From Brooklyn to Zaire (You're a star)
We need a ghetto Messiah
×
Album: "When We Were Kings" Soundtrack (1996)
da genius dove si trovano numerose note.
Vide contrapposti l'allora campione del mondo dei pesi massimi George Foreman contro il precedente campione Muhammad Ali: Ali cercava di riottenere il titolo dei pesi massimi, diventando così il secondo a riuscire nell'impresa dopo Floyd Patterson.
La canzone fa parte della colonna sonora del documentario When We Were Kings dal regista Leon Gast.
Il regista Leon Gast, attraverso interviste e filmati d'archivio, ricostruisce la carriera di Alì-Cassius Clay, il suo carisma e la battaglia per i diritti civili, soprattutto in favore degli afroamericani.
Alì, nelle settimane che precedono l'incontro più difficile della sua carriera, si fa portavoce e simbolo del riscatto culturale e morale dell'intero popolo africano, affrontando una sfida difficilissima (da alcuni definita impossibile) con un pugile più potente e più giovane di lui.
George Foreman, anche se a sua volta nero, nell'immaginario del popolo zairese diventa subito il nemico da battere, simboleggiato nel grido «Alì, boma ye» («Ali uccidilo»), che accompagna gli allenamenti di Ali e che viene scandito dal pubblico durante l'incontro.
In questo lungo pezzo hip hop, i Fugees ricostruiscono magistralmente la vita di Mohammed Ali, dalla conversione all'Islam alle sue battaglie civili. Come quando rifiutò di andare in Vietnam a combattere.
Gli costò il titolo dei pesi massimi e la licenza per combattere. Fu processato e condannato a cinque anni di carcere che non scontò perché nel 1971 la Corte Suprema, spinta da una sollevazione popolare e dall'attenzione mediatica, ribaltò la sentenza riconoscendo, per la prima volta, il diritto all'obiezione di coscienza.
L'incontro tra Foreman e Ali, iniziato alle 4 del mattino per permettere di trasmetterlo in diretta negli Stati Uniti, fu epico. Ali era stato sospeso dalla pratica del pugilato dal 1967, e doveva scontare tre anni e mezzo di squalifica a causa del suo rifiuto di arruolarsi nell'esercito e per le sue posizioni di critica verso la Guerra del Vietnam. Ali voleva anche ritornare sul ring dopo la sconfitta con Joe Frazier subita nel 1971, nello Scontro del Secolo al Madison Square Garden.
Foreman era dato dai bookmaker come favorito, e la sua vittoria veniva data fino a tre volte più probabile di una sconfitta. Le quote erano influenzate dall'ultima sconfitta subita da Ali con Frazier, e dal fatto che Foreman aveva vinto il titolo mondiale battendo proprio Frazier: nell'incontro, l'aveva messo a tappeto sei volte prima di mandarlo KO. Inoltre, Foreman aveva sconfitto Ken Norton in solo due round, e Norton era il pugile che aveva fratturato la mascella di Ali.
Ali prese un sacco di pugni per cinque round. Il venduto Foreman lo stava gonfiando come una zampogna. Ma lui niente, lui sempre in piedi a pigliare in giro quell'altro. Mi deludi, George. Non sai fare di meglio? Sei diventato debole, amico. Sei stanco? E Foreman picchiava come un pazzo, sprecando così ogni energia.
All'ottava ripresa, Mohammad tirò un cartone dell'altro mondo al venduto che vacillò e andò a terra come morto. E Alì lo guardava cadere, stava per colpire ancora Foreman ma non lo fece, trattenne il guantone, sapeva che non ci sarebbe stato bisogno di niente di più, forse non voleva sfigurare il volto del nemico. Con quel pugno fantastico lo aveva già umiliato abbastanza, e si stava riprendendo tutto: il titolo mondiale, la gloria, l'orgoglio, un pezzo del suo passato e l'amore del mondo intero e dell'umanità: tutta, senza eccezioni.
(Gianni Minà - da "La Repubblica" del 7 novembre 1994)