Hip-Hop.. nn'86, '86, '86 nn'86, '86, '86 nnYo... n nYo when C-notes and deep throats nI'm from the era of sheep coats, manilla envelopes and weed smoke nBlock parties in 22 nGraffiti artists like Tru, Two and Jewel, just to name a few for you nNow or Laters and son dudes, you hear son? nFair ones, before niggaz learned gun fool nYeah +Run+, D.M.C.'s were original nNow we got pretty thugs, and sore criminals nI remember hip-hop, not dominated by visual nYour rap was critical, or the crowd got rid of you (boooo) nNow it's pseudo-pitiful, plus punks be 'fessin nSellin records, talk about what they dressed in nI'm sayin that's a part of it (what) but not the start of it nThe livest show, used to be in your apartment kid nHip-Hop! Started out in the dark nNow it's mainly focused, to where the fly cars is parked nBut it's still in my, still in my heart nn'86, '86, '86 n'86, '86, '86 n nBusy Bee told y'all, now I'ma Kurtis Blow y'all out the art nSo fresh you jet from perfected darts nMic projection sharp, your heart pump Kool-Aid nYou whack, what? Bring the noise! I got crazy backup nPow-Wow was my neighbor, Rasheim had flavor nI was pumpin Sugarhill, on my sister's record player nWhen the Y opened, The Message was blastin nUTFO was next, then Inspector Gadget nHad to be near a bastard to see mean shots nNever was a killer, couldn't make it to my 13 box n5 cent refund, brung change for video games nNow I see the youth, the scenario changed nIt used to be the truth, only rappers had big change nWe argued who was nicer, Rakim, KRS or Kane nI'm havin +Nightmares+, I had to speak to Dana Dane nTold him I remember the days, and how they made me wanna say nWanna say, wanna say nn'86, '86, '86 n'86, '86, '86 n nI was body poppin, rockin shockin, plottin to splash in class nGirls said I looked like Lakim Shabazz nMy homegirl Roxy was Manhattan's daughter nSo slick she bought a bag of chips with a +Latin Quarter+ nWord to Big Bird herb, and the Izod gators nLet's take it +Back to the Future+, without the flux capacitators nNo backsees, no penny taps for clones nOn my tracks, I would die over spit, like Ramone nYou WHACK and get no dap for your rap nShot through the bottom of your feet, now that's my soul clap nSo go gold or go plat', but don't go back nUnless you down by law, cause you might get slapped and jacked nSmash your turntables with a hammer (one two) nNow, how's that for breakbeats, knowledge my grammar nAt the rally with my Ballys when it's time to show and prove nOn some old school shit like make me, make me move