There’s no better way to start your day then thisChecking out the supreme two, recover the blitzThat was once in hip-hop, but lately, this shit’s cheapEvery man sound like another look-a-like in the streetAnd that’s bad, that ain’t nothing to brag and boast aboutGet on TV, fake the funk, and show outAy-yo, that’s high school shit, niggas need to presentSomething like this, hanging with the purpose of kicksBack hands and fly rhymes, and Thes with the loopsSomething lovely for the troop, in a jeep or a coupe‘Cause its universe-atile, you know the way it wasWhen everybody enjoy the body rock in the clubsBut, yo, nowadays, it’s either this or it’s thatI rather diss real quick with a baseball batThe hat stays to the back, and the sack steady burnedThe way cool West rocker with stripes to earnNot the tape you claim, that ain’t the game I playIn the cut, I lay twats and study day-to-dayThe masters of the cere- taking care of the crowdI get cheers when I’m moving, if- yo, if not, they’re booingIt don’t matter, I still do it, strike harder than firstPut everything I been thinking into one long verseWithout a curse, without the bullshit, running it downThey way I do it kinda spooks, spread it over your townFor these Starbuck-niggas running up to the micThey don’t excite, they bite, going against the rulesLike it’s nothing, but it’s day is comingAnd 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 grainWith well-trained thoughts, I spot stains in the fabric of timeWith the magic of mind, I fabricate rhyme connectionsThen harvest pop culture with old record collectionsWith soul in our ears, we hear loops they can’tAnd free the lost rhythms of indigenous chantsWe hip-hop enhanced like banging on lunch tablesRansacking Radio Shack for RCA cablesHats with your name sown on at the SwapYo, it’s all in our blood, pulled out through red dropsUntil we stop, we claim a separation that always has beenSince when Hard Bop broke from Cool JazzFrom the West and manifest the style like Hampton HawesAs yet, Thes rap-like Gods and show flaws on othersI went from pa’s loop tapes to twenty-four cratesDiscovered: history repeats, so I looped beatsCollect loot on the streets, keep the people out of their seatsAt shows with the long-handed flows of polysyllabic proseAnd No-Doze, administered no sleepYo, we come from the Sunset, and that packs heatYou see, the style is westerly, like the winds of changeYou see, this style packs heat like things cooked on a rangeYou see, this range is cultural spare change that’s forgotThes-One’ll keep the art form hot…Dedicated… to… every forgotten crewDedicated… to… all those Los Angeles crewsDedicated… to… all the DJs… still doing it from back in the dayDedicated 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!
