Hook- It's like a Timboots and hoodies session army fatigues. The 88 to 96 straight form the boon Ds’. The gin and juice jamboree in a Gs’ paradise I loved them days when hip-hop was nice it’s like a tag on a train with an old Sharpe. The b-boy stance heading straight for the fresh freeze. The getting loose in the jam all freeking night. You know i love this hip hop life.
I love it when we used to rhyme, I'm talking rhyming for rhyming sake, just rhyming for the flavour not rhyming to make the cake, rhyming over the breaks to assassinate the snakes rhyming for the B-girls and B-Boys in the place. Rhyming just to get your name on the flyer, rhyming just to be the GOD mc and be called sire, rhyming to be admired rhyming to be feared like Mike Myers, rhyming to silence the liars,
rhyming like you're in a cypher swing for your lifer, rhyming of the top of your head no time for types writers, rhyming like your always ready for war, ready rhymes glory always ready to settle a score rhyming like you love the applause, rhyming like you taking a bow and somehow rhyming on the encore just rhyming just to rhyme, in time design a new line sublime an climb till your prime shines divine.


So let me blaze mine, and bring it back to the real divine woke up early on my born feeling fine reminiscing times of old ,if there were story's told in different light would we rewrite the scrolls, let history unfold like origami in reverse, what if 2 Pac never blazed up biggie in that verse, what if Nas missed the BBQ, Mc search ceased , NWA stayed together and sang we love police Rakim, never put 7 MCs in line, Mc run never took off his Adidas that time LL cool J declined and said I don't need love, Wu tang didn't triumph and with then you could fuck, what if Marshall never entered the battle in LA,
would we even have the B-boys if we didn't have breaks what if, trains didn't exist, how many names would appear and disperse in the window mist, what. if

It’s an art form that’s born from the torn shreds of ghetto life so strong to take a human sacrifice to die for I know brothers that do time for at her majesties pleasure some even knock St’ peters door cans racked it’s a fact bomb the pearly gates call the lord plug the speakers and teach him how to break its not blasphemy this is a religion to we, I mean the writers b-boys , DJs and all the real MCs