| Remedies for house parties stayed simple and plain
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| Little wine, little music, little Mary Jane
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| Gotta keep the lights dim, so when the people walk in
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| The vibe stays nice and mellow, everybody fits in
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| And everybody hey and ho, are gettin they groove on
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| The record only stops when the lights came on
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| Then they went back off, we continued to groove
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| Then somebody grabbed the mic like they had somethin to prove
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| It was just the spirit got em, it wouldn’t let loose
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| There right before our eyes hip-hop was produced
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| The fire kept on burnin like a doggie in heat
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| You couldn’t help to feel the flavor as you walked through the streets
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| Everybody had a crew on every block for blocks
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| This seemed to be insurance that the beat won’t stop
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| So one day shots ring and it was no one to blame
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| All you thought was would it ever all be the same
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| But if you got the love, baby, won’t a damn thing change
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| As long as you remember it always remains
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| I remember
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| When we used to play shoot-em-up, bang-bang
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| I remember
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| When we used to play shoot-em-up, bang-bang
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| MC’s and DJ’s (2x)
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| Block parties jam-packed, the first time I heard rap
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| And deejays spinnin breakbeats back
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| These were the last good days of the ghetto
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| It wasn’t all about bein jiggy, so save that rap for Jell-O
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| Down on my knees in the street playin skelly
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| Rushin upstairs to see _Graffiti Rock_ on the telly
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| With one eye on the beats droppin
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| I knew that one day would come when I’d be on the mic rockin
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| Every day after school practisin
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| I mixed blues smarts with street smarts, and then started battle rappin
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| But for me it wasn’t happenin
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| So I changed up my style, to the ladies been mackin
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| I wrote a rhyme about 'Roxanne, Roxanne'
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| I used to bust it out when I went to a jam
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| My mother read the dirty rap
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| She said, «You ain’t gon' go too far expressin yourself like that
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| Disrespectin black women
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| And what’s gon' happen when you turn around and try to have your own children?»
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| So I changed up my style once again
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| So me and my moms could still be friends
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| My daddy wasn’t buggin out so far
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| Watchin me pretend to be another rap star
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| Through my eyes he saw a child changin
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| Growin up to be a man and leave behind the shootin, bangin
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| Now this one goes out to the ones who set it off
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| And all the pioneers that made it what it was
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| Cause we been doin this for 25 years long
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| So we gotta represent and keep hip-hop strong
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| JBeez, we on a plateau, ain’t nothin stoppin us
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| Will with the spirit of God, now watch it jump in us
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| Cause when you cut the roots off the family tree
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| All you leave behind is the sweet memory
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| Right from the start, we did it in the park
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| It wasn’t for the money, and it came from the heart
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| But in these days and times, when rappers write rhymes
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| All we think about is signin on the dotted line
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| Me, I been thinkin about the way it used to be
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| When before you was a rapper, you became an MC
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| I’m proud of my heritage, and glad that we made it
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| I still bust rhymes without bein player-hated
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| Standin on the same stage, rockin with the JBeez
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| Was a dream come true for a brother like me
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| Before rap was consumed, and hip-hop was doomed
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| I was bangin on tables, rhymin in the lunchroom
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| I used to walk the street with my ghetto blaster
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| My brothers on the block was startin Zulu chapters
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| You know what I’m talkin about if you go way back
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| And yo, big ups to all my sisters, in the name of rap
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| Cause when it comes to hip-hop, you know you gotta keep it true
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| Take from the old, mix it with the new
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| I used to go by the name of MC Shazaam
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| But now you know me as Afrika Baby Bam |