Yeah, niggas don't know about Fatback With the different color records they had back in the days You know what I mean, the belt-driven turntables With Technics joints (with the slipmats!) Put nickels on the needles so the motherfucking record won't jump The needle won't skip and shit Getting juice from the fucking light poles Shout out to the Bronx, nigga!
Aye yo, this shit go way back like a Uni marker, kid Bombing the D train and hit the Bronx up Krylon bandits attack; Planet Rock, Bambaataa Peace to Pylon discovering rap And the DJ that made the first scratch Paved the way for Flex, Mister Cee, 'nuff of them cats See, this rap shit came at a time that was accurate Twenty-something years later, I mastered it Seen light poles get used for power I was a little nigga Couldn't stay out late I was sour So I sat by the window, heard the DJ cut Impeach the Pres, Apache, and just begun Otis Redding, "Tramp" the music stopped Guess the system blew out one of his amps It'd take a little while, then it come back on Somebody stepped on the wire and shit, that's all Now everybody's back in the groove, echo chamber "Check one two, one two" that's my favorite Strobe lights is live, Pink Champale Little pink joints being lit up on the side Couple niggas had two fives Other than that, cleared a circle in the park and shoot 5 Girls wore they Lees and jellies Jordache and Lees, (TF Lords fit the fellys?) (Sams ?) and Kangol buckets, B.V.D's Go to Sergio's like, fuck it Seen the stamp on that Crazy Eddie Niggas coming back from the Funhouse dusted Throwing bubbles on the wall
[Chorus] We must remind you Where this rap come from Yes my brother, my sister It's our duty, we must remind you Hip hop was set out in the park We used to do it out in the dark
Yo, it all started at the After Midnight Philly, but walk with me Mad niggas coming down from New York City Prolly hit the skating rink USA Banging Schoolly, "Gangster Boogie" and "P.S.K." I remember shells, Gazelles, top tens, and lottos Mega design, reefer smoke, Coqui nine bottles (Entire wore velours, call the boys with the Lucci wore?) 84's from Atlantic City Gucci store Linoleum break dancing, Rust-Oleum cans I put the writing on the wall signed, "Truly yours" Philly smashed '87 Music Seminar Out on the battlefield like Pat Benatar Hit the borough with Krown Rulers out of Camden People Patty Duke-ing in the party, all cramped in Around the time Flav started cold lamping "Rebel Without a Pause" was the street anthem Old Memorex cassette, tape collections Bright spotlights on all the fights at the Spectrum When the Fresh Fest come, leather bombers and sheepskins Brothers would bust they guns to get one MC Breeze, Disco C, Jazzy Jeff Cash Money and Miz and Lady B Everybody banging "Sucker MC's" in '83 I was South Philly like St. Charles and Crazy D Them wild North Side Puerto Ricans would snuff you Twenty deep in a Ford Escort, pumping the Tuff Crew I used to follow my cousin, he was a buck too "Y'all don't like how I'm living, well, fuck you!" I been a G since a little kid Sticking my head up into somebody's dollar party, getting into shit And late nights, shoulda been in bed Instead, I was running 'round with them downtown lemonheads A little man, hanging where them grown women is Under thirteen, seeing real strong images And that's the reason for my real rap penmanship That's where I started it, and that's where I'mma finish it