…down 155th in the MCM Snorkel
We was
Escaping the bleak, pursuing a feeling
Pressure pushed them towards the instinct of brilliance
Capture then scraping the breaks off to build songs
They was in the park up between the buildings
And they dancing face like “ah-hah” and “mm-hmm”
Voice would echo, calling--slap off the buildings
Anticipating ceremony to begin
Food provided by the neighborhood dealers
They phrase nothing-words like “biting” and “chilling”
"Biting" meant that you was stealing and illing
And so thusly you were def’ly not "chilling"
They wouldn’t fuck with you just fuck with the real ones
We had sayings called like "52s" and "fair ones"
Ya’ll just got it on. You think y'have to kill, huh?
Now it's calibers, for bullshit you 'ere, huh?
And your music make us real niggas tear up
Now my girlfriend’s name in B-More was Triva
And her door knockers was bamboos, believe that
And our two-toned Lees of course they was creased up
Seen a god—Dapper Dan, down, and trucked up
The type of MC you be back then is “sucka”
Dons call ‘em honey dips
Gold and grey money clips
Selling out was not the lick
Covet not another's clique
Wasn’t cool just cause you rich
Sit here, bang shots, [?]
Black and Puerto Rican stars
Twin rock the baddest furs, Le Tigre polos, fitted shirts
Maximas was kitted up
compositores: ISHMAEL REGINALD BUTLER
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