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this music - timothy welbeck lyrics

verse 1
this all started in an office with calmness/my parents heard swearing and some 2 live nonsense/and now the name “rap” was tainted and tarnished/they came proclaiming, “you ain’t gone listen to that garbage/disregard it, these rappers ain’t artists”/i had no option, i grabbed their tapes of marvin, aretha, and james, i even found bob then/stevie and michael, whatever i could find art in/they were in boxes from our old apartment, and as i copped them, i popped them in my walkman/rummaging through those boxes, i didn’t know which one to start with/but i would listen everyday, and i knew all of their songs then/i studied every cord, and every guitar riff/the became the soundtrack of my youth in all the years i grew up/and took my mind to places that i never knew/i listened carefully to the movements p-ss/heard jazz grow from blues, and soul grew from jazz/i saw how rock and rap took congruent paths/and if soul influenced that, what am i do with rap—it’s all music

hook
god, what am i to do with this, when no one else in the world is seeing you in it/and me trying to fight it is oh so useless/so god tell me what am i to do with this music (repeat)

verse 2
em told us music an alter moods and talk to you/and as a youth, i learned that truth all too soon/when my cousin audrey visited in part of june/she turned on the radio, and blasted awkward tunes/the music was contagious, it spread over its blaring beat/i moved on instinct not caring what would my parents/audrey couldn’t help but laugh as she stared at me/watching it carry its melody throughout my very being/this was music like i had heard through the grapevine/percussion, b-ss lines, that people used to create rhymes/it changed lives, from that day it changed mine/i was in love, fighting it only would waste time/so from then on, when it spoke, i listened/to the hum of every drum, i would flow along with them/this music had touched me, giving me no description/except it spoke to my soul in ways that old ones didn’t

hook
god, what am i to do with this, when no one else in the world is seeing you in it/and me trying to fight it is oh so useless/so god tell me what am i to do with this music (repeat)

verse 3
within eighteen months, i was simply gone/and i would pen these songs with whitney vaughan/on the weekends, all that we would know was writing, and we took our rhyming to every social climate/football games, parties, we would flow in parking lots,/rhyming in ciphers around the time that pac got shot/i guess you could say, that’s when i earned respect then/and you had the beginning of what became a suburban legend/i battled everyone, so the praise was due/even the music, cause it would try and play me too/and hop, and skip, and skip, like a six-year old on the way to school/but i kept rhyming, i kept writing, i kept fighting/looking for a purpose in this, praying that i’d find it/and that’s when i gave god glory in all that i did/flowing in his name, knowing this wasn’t my gift/so i obeyed saying that i would do it in faith/and at each place, they would say, “what must i do to be saved”/and that’s when i would say i knew that my influence was great/and i would preach this gospel, i would do what it takes/i couldn’t do this any more to rock an audience/i’m held accountable when all of the applauses end/but at each location, the battle continued/because of tradition, churches kicked me out of their venues/and when it seemed like all else was about to fail/the lord, he introduced me to a malcolm sales/and ladies and gentlemen, that’s how you’re hearing this now/because he believed, we are recording this here in his house

hook
god, what am i to do with this, when no one else in the world is seeing you in it/and me trying to fight it is oh so useless/so god tell me what am i to do with this music (repeat)

verse 4
i was predestined to spit, i will not shut up and run/because these rhymes will stay so hot, they’ll burn the spit off my tongue/so i must release, what is burning in me/it’s fire shut up in my bones, it’s earnest to sleep/but they say, “red, you can’t be godly and controversial/so the music you do has got to be poppy and commercial/even if you receive the truth, don’t report it/because the day you do, we’ll make sure that we stone you for it”/it’s like thy can’t hear, and they don’t know that they’re deaf/that’s why i feel like i’m elijah—no one is left/they’re too busy saving their lives, holding their breath/knowing that we pause from breathing for speaking, meaning sacred is prose/so in these last six years that i’ve been placed in these shows/i’ve been placing my life on hold for the saving of souls/and critics have been hating my songs, taking up stones, and they hurl them at me every time they say that i’m wrong/it’s days like this, i’m left with n-body, except rashida, my sister katherine, and a brother named kwasi/we’re like the faithful remnant who get the clue/god exists outside of church vestibules/i make his word my lyrix and take them to the restless youth/and stay on a kwest for jesus like i’m led to do/and since my savior conquered the grave, i refuse to bow to death/but i will sing of his praises until i’m out of breath/so you can go ahead and stone me if you must do it/just let it be said that i was used through this music…

- timothy welbeck lyrics

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