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Funky fresh tracks I'm strapped with a pack
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Pump the real rap false crap to the back
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I stay true to the vibe and the flavor the old school
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Gave you what all others lacked
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Integrity contained in the grain of the lines
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Artistic expression conveyed in the rhymes
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Critics dismissed it and dissed it and wished it would die
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But it lifted and strengthened the mind
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Now the nineties are here so have fear it's getting washed out
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All the original vibes are being tossed out
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Taken from the streets and jacked for the beats
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These companies are weak their songs incomplete
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They seek to sell hip hop but instead they disrespect it
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Dissect it use what they can sell and then neglect it
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Everywhere I turn I find a sucker with a rhyme
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Not an M.C. 'cause an M.C. knows the time
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Rap is popping up like toast from coast to coast
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They try to boast that their style is so dope
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But it won't last a round when the real sound macks
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"For all the pioneers I'm going way back"
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Go back... to the Funky 97
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Lyrics have been kicking hard from day one
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I wake around noon I squint at the sun
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Consider all my chores each day I catch more
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Throw on my drawers before I get the job done
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I step out the apt. without delay
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Walkman pumping "It's a brand new day"
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I'm gonna meet the keen-one when suddenly I see some
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Ducks in a truck playing "Ice Ice Babe"
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Down upon my ears my worst fears had ascended
|
I guess I must admit that at the shit I was offended
|
They proceeded to park stepped in the minute-mart
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I thought to myself "The situation is splendid"
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I stepped up to it and began to analyze the
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Scene in green I tagged my name "Pete Miser"
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Wide strokes in green dripping down the hood while I'm flipping
|
The pilot in my pocket is my duty to advise a
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Bandwagon buster not to dis hip hop
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The shit they hit it makes me wonder how they get props
|
As if you didn't know it takes the skills to flow
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Go back to the lab 'cause if you step you'll get dropped
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Go back... to the Funky 97
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Go back to that rack of wax and two twelves
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'Cause back then we'd rap when caps sent the braincells
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Flying toys dying many punks sunk denying
|
Their fronting ain't it something fluffing nothings still trying
|
To come off but the drums lost their weak minds
|
I cultivate a great state of thought caught between lines
|
These toys nowadays employ the sound waves
|
To get paid and laid but still played the proud ways
|
Don't understand the plan the man or my reasons
|
Wack rhyme's a crime and I'm trying you for treason
|
You're a goner if I catch you on a corner in a freestyle
|
But I never will you lack skills that's why you're on trial
|
Go back to the basics or face it your fake shit
|
Wastes airspace it's a disgrace when you make it
|
If it don't sell well tell me would you do it?
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If not then hot shot you'd better not pursue it
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Go back... to the Funky 97
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Funky 97
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| Five Fingers Of Funk |
