Our Time

(feat. Proof of D12)

[Proof:]

What does the mic and beat mean to me

It's more than just greenery

It's not what I do to be

It's savage with thievery

Easily I was sucked in

By these labels that fucked with

Over and over with me and tried a hold to get publishin

It's not what you think it is

Imagine a stinkin kid

Fiend for a dream and snappin a blink it in

Before ya eyes you

And all ya guys been

The tour then rise oh shit you while and dies

You in love with this hip hop

You don't care when the shit stop

But then the shit stop make you overflow when you get dropped

It's back to the street agains

Search for the beat again

Find the love again a piece of paper I need a pen

This is the essence man

For me and my blessed friends

Although with your separate ends

Proof got a second win

But hate what I become through the venom in my tongue

But I could find myself by the rhythm of the drum

[chorus:]

It's the beats (the beats) the rhymes (the rhymes)

The mic (the mic) we shine (we shine)

It's yours (it's yours) it's mine (it's mine)

This our time yall niggaz get back in line

It's the beats (the beats) the rhymes (the rhymes)

The mic (the mic) we shine (we shine)

It's yours (it's yours) it's mine (it's mine)

It's our time yall niggaz get back in line

[Chino XL:]

Is it okay if the Neptunes didn't produce me?

Is it okay if I poor my heart out over looseleaf?

Is it okay wack rappers die and I don't lose sleep?

Excuse me but hip hop these days it don't enthuse me

I been framed like Mona Lisa, crucified like Easter

My dreams I still leave none dead like Mother Theresa

Trekked to be a star show no emotion like Data

The business is gay and it's homeless got not posit to come outta

Matter of fact it takes a real nigga like Proof to understand me

I can't dress crazy like Outkast to win the Grammy

Even ya family tries to play you till you get all rich

The whole world is underhanded like a softball pitch

A while back to define rap was ill verses on albums

I spit it harder than hitchhikin with no thumbs

They're makin hip hop a joke when there's nothin to smile at

I stay stoned like naked white women hoein in Iraq

Would you rather be a revered reverend thug angel in Heaven or

Famous in Hell then in yaself like David Chapelle to sell

Knowin ya in a cell for well from too stealth

I refuse to blow a verses that smell like pricewell

(Yo yall thug niggaz is wack but that money put some kid through college)

Fuck 'em I spit his mom if they hit his garbage

So many fallow what they really shallow

Would not allow my daughters to even watch the channel

Unless Alicia Keyes or Tina Marie is rockin the piano

This ain't Chingy nigga, this is Chino

This flow right herr' be wetter than Finding Nemo

Fame ain't what I thought it be like

It's like midnight in the desert full of rattlesnakes

Waitin for one to strike