'86 Lyrics

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'86 Lyrics by C-Rayz Walz

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Hip-Hop..  
  
'86, '86, '86  
  
'86, '86, '86  
Yo  
  
[C-Rayz Walz]  
Yo when C-notes and deep throats  
I'm from the era of sheep coats, manilla envelopes and weed smoke  
Block parties in 22  
Graffiti artists like Tru, Two and Jewel, just to name a few for you  
Now or Laters and son dudes, you hear son?  
Fair ones, before niggaz learned gun fool  
Yeah +Run+, D.M.C.'s were original  
Now we got pretty thugs, and sore criminals  
I remember hip-hop, not dominated by visual  
Your rap was critical, or the crowd got rid of you (boooo)  
Now it's pseudo-pitiful, plus punks be 'fessin  
Sellin records, talk about what they dressed in  
I'm sayin that's a part of it (what) but not the start of it  
The livest show, used to be in your apartment kid  
Hip-Hop! Started out in the dark  
Now it's mainly focused, to where the fly cars is parked  
But it's still in my, still in my heart  
  
'86, '86, '86  
'86, '86, '86  
  
[C-Rayz Walz]  
Busy Bee told y'all, now I'ma Kurtis Blow y'all out the art  
So fresh you jet from perfected darts  
Mic projection sharp, your heart pump Kool-Aid  
You whack, what? Bring the noise! I got crazy backup  
Pow-Wow was my neighbor, Rasheim had flavor  
I was pumpin Sugarhill, on my sister's record player  
When the Y opened, "The Message" was blastin  
UTFO was next, then Inspector Gadget  
Had to be near a bastard to see mean shots  
Never was a killer, couldn't make it to my 13 box  
5 cent refund, brung change for video games  
Now I see the youth, the scenario changed  
It used to be the truth, only rappers had big change  
We argued who was nicer, Rakim, KRS or Kane  
I'm havin +Nightmares+, I had to speak to Dana Dane  
Told him I remember the days, and how they made me wanna say  
Wanna say, wanna say  
  
'86, '86, '86  
'86, '86, '86  
  
[C-Rayz Walz]  
I was body poppin, rockin shockin, plottin to splash in class  
Girls said I looked like Lakim Shabazz  
My homegirl Roxy was Manhattan's daughter  
So slick she bought a bag of chips with a +Latin Quarter+  
Word to Big Bird herb, and the Izod gators  
Let's take it +Back to the Future+, without the flux capacitators  
No backsees, no penny taps for clones  
On my tracks, I would die over spit, like Ramone  
You WHACK and get no dap for your rap  
Shot through the bottom of your feet, now that's my soul clap  
So go gold or go plat', but don't go back  
Unless you down by law, cause you might get slapped and jacked  
Smash your turntables with a hammer (one two)  
Now, how's that for breakbeats, knowledge my grammar  
At the rally with my Ballys when it's time to show and prove  
On some old school shit like make me, make me move

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