There's no better way to start your day then this
Checking out the supreme two, recover the blitz
That was once in hip-hop, but lately, this shit's cheap
Every man sound like another look-a-like in the street
And that's bad, that ain't nothing to brag and boast about
Get on TV, fake the funk, and show out
Ay-yo, that's high school shit, niggas need to present
Something like this, hanging with the purpose of kicks
Back hands and fly rhymes, and Thes with the loops
Something lovely for the troop, in a jeep or a coupe
'Cause its universe-atile, you know the way it was
When everybody enjoy the body rock in the clubs
But, yo, nowadays, it's either this or it's that
I rather diss real quick with a baseball bat
The hat stays to the back, and the sack steady burned
The way cool West rocker with stripes to earn
Not the tape you claim, that ain't the game I play
In the cut, I lay twats and study day-to-day
The masters of the cere- taking care of the crowd
I get cheers when I'm moving, if- yo, if not, they're booing
It don't matter, I still do it, strike harder than first
Put everything I been thinking into one long verse
Without a curse, without the bullshit, running it down
They way I do it kinda spooks, spread it over your town
For these Starbuck-niggas running up to the mic
They don't excite, they bite, going against the rules
Like it's nothing, but it's day is coming
And one time, me and Thes'll be, like, here... laughing and shit...
Don't pass it up...
Yo, I roughly rearrange, connect text through context, to set a frame
(Alright...) I allow my lyrical campaign through vocal grain
With well-trained thoughts, I spot stains in the fabric of time
With the magic of mind, I fabricate rhyme connections
Then harvest pop culture with old record collections
With soul in our ears, we hear loops they can't
And free the lost rhythms of indigenous chants
We hip-hop enhanced like banging on lunch tables
Ransacking Radio Shack for RCA cables
Hats with your name sown on at the Swap
Yo, it's all in our blood, pulled out through red drops
Until we stop, we claim a separation that always has been
Since when Hard Bop broke from Cool Jazz
From the West and manifest the style like Hampton Hawes
As yet, Thes rap-like Gods and show flaws on others
I went from pa's loop tapes to twenty-four crates
Discovered: history repeats, so I looped beats
Collect loot on the streets, keep the people out of their seats
At shows with the long-handed flows of polysyllabic prose
And No-Doze, administered no sleep
Yo, we come from the Sunset, and that packs heat
You see, the style is westerly, like the winds of change
You see, this style packs heat like things cooked on a range
You see, this range is cultural spare change that's forgot
Thes-One'll keep the art form hot...
Dedicated... to... every forgotten crew
Dedicated... to... all those Los Angeles crews
Dedicated... to... all the DJs... still doing it from back in the day
Dedicated to South Bronx... Look where we at now, y'all...
Dedicated...
To L.A. (repeated on double delay)
To find out where you fit in, call your recreation office and get behind the act.
Just for the fun of it!
Who knows?
Inside you, there may be a masterpiece!