True School NYC Hip-Hop, a mixture of hardcore skills and revolutionary thought. Full of Third-Eye Openers.
"OJ's for people that are sleepin' in the streets/ and mothers that are weepin' in the streets..."
Song Info
Genre
Charts
#2,865 in subgenre
Peak #46
Charts
Peak #1,532
Author
Omega Johnson (words, music)
Rights
2004
Uploaded
August 18, 2004
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.8 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00
Story behind the song
I watch and listen to a lot of what goes on around hip-hop, in the clubs and on the streets. People are treatin' this like it either has to be a game of who's the bigger thug, or who can reflect the most light off their jewelry... and it's really not that serious--this is hip-hop, we're supposed to have fun in our culture, good times. I wanted to put that out that there, make it really heard.
Lyrics
I’m Old School like the refrigerator box I used to rehearse windmills on/
and get my skills on/
Before the Red Dawn and Whispers in the Dark/
it was Jay-Ice out in the park/
Enjoyin’ block parties in the [heat]/
Breakers and Rock Steady clash in the [street]/
Me and my man Melvin set back-spinnin’ every time we meet/
In a few months time, I was quick on my feet/
Still I had my old tape of Superrhymes, [Ha!...]/
The one with the fly girl Lois Line [Hunh!...]/
By then I had a dream I would be on TV/
with the M-I-C rockin’ viciously/
[Flash one time] – Shell-Toes and Stan Smiths with fat laces/
Giggin’ on cats that had braces/
and Dismasters/
blew up the spots of part-time hustlers from Ghetto Blasters/
Speakin’ of spots/
where were you when you first saw Beat Street or Graffiti Rock? /
Yeah – mad heat/
Zulu and Boom-Bash clash in the [street]/
and I just wanted to be down with giving hickeys at the hooky get-togethers/
Chasin’ Charlmaine who had the best tetas/
[Flash two times]/
to BK Tech lunchroom [beat box] where I worked to perfect the rhymes/
It was right around that time Decepticons started,/
walkin’ G trains like an ill supermarket/
[I played it cool, so them cats] played it cool with me/
[and when I wasn’t in class], streets were schoolin’ me/
Runnin’ with m’man Joe, West 4th and beyond/
He’s on the higher level, but he’ll never be gone/
If you can’t flashback, it’s a memory leak/
‘cause to me all of that shit was just last week/
To the beat y’all, and you don’t stop/
This one right here’s the sureshot/
Throw your hands up high to the rooftop/
Remind the cats on the wall this is hip-hop/
To the beat y’all, and you don’t stop/
This one right here’s the sureshot/
Throw your hands up high to the rooftop/
Remind the chicks on the wall this is hip-hop//
I can remember when Scott LaRock caught a stray bullet/
but not whether they figured who pulled it/
and even though I didn’t know the man, I felt pain, son/
whether pain came from me or KRS-ONE/
and many passed on like Buff and Cowboy/
From MC Trouble to Trouble T-Roy/
Peace to Subrock, Matt from Dooable Arts/
I knew you from my start when cats rhymed with heart/
Flashback to people makin’ art/
Today a majority of fake fucks playin’ a part/
For the glitter, but my soul stays underground/[Authentic] like the birthplace of the sound/
[Classic] like Funk Flex playin’ Homebase/
and LL versus Moe Dee across tapes/
[Classic] like DTs drivin’ Gran Furies/
[Less gats] bein’ pulled, [less cats] being buried/
More battles people lose without broken bottles bein’ used/
‘cause they want record deals to be abused/
Less hip-hop shows that erupt in gunshots/
‘cause we’re too into the lyrics that make the spot hot/
Back then you just used rhymes to maintain/
Now even the lame jump on stage with ice chains/
If you can’t tell ‘em apart, you’re already caught/
look past the ill suit, check who’s gotta recoup/
‘cause while some shit’s better, some shit’s worse/
and if rap gets tired, some cats are outta work/
I made money before rap became a game/
so I don’t compromise by scramblin’ for fame/
I just live in it, many call me a playa/
that remains the rhyme-spitter on a skilled layer/
The Third-Eye Beam Conveyor/
Peace to all that remember hip-hop and continue the flavor//
To the beat y’all, and you don’t stop/
This one right here’s the sureshot/
Throw your hands up high to the rooftop/
Remind the cats on the wall this is hip-hop/
To the beat y’all, and you don’t stop/
This one right here’s the sureshot/
Throw your hands up high to the rooftop/
Remind the chicks on the wall this is hip-hop //
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