Funky fresh tracks I'm strapped with a pack

Pump the real rap false crap to the back

I stay true to the vibe and the flavor the old school

Gave you what all others lacked

Integrity contained in the grain of the lines

Artistic expression conveyed in the rhymes

Critics dismissed it and dissed it and wished it would die

But it lifted and strengthened the mind

Now the nineties are here so have fear it's getting washed out

All the original vibes are being tossed out

Taken from the streets and jacked for the beats

These companies are weak their songs incomplete

They seek to sell hip hop but instead they disrespect it

Dissect it use what they can sell and then neglect it

Everywhere I turn I find a sucker with a rhyme

Not an M.C. 'cause an M.C. knows the time

Rap is popping up like toast from coast to coast

They try to boast that their style is so dope

But it won't last a round when the real sound macks

"For all the pioneers I'm going way back"

Go back... to the Funky 97

Lyrics have been kicking hard from day one

I wake around noon I squint at the sun

Consider all my chores each day I catch more

Throw on my drawers before I get the job done

I step out the apt. without delay

Walkman pumping "It's a brand new day"

I'm gonna meet the keen-one when suddenly I see some

Ducks in a truck playing "Ice Ice Babe"

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

I thought to myself "The situation is splendid"

I stepped up to it and began to analyze the

Scene in green I tagged my name "Pete Miser"

Wide strokes in green dripping down the hood while I'm flipping

The pilot in my pocket is my duty to advise a

Bandwagon buster not to dis hip hop

The shit they hit it makes me wonder how they get props

As if you didn't know it takes the skills to flow

Go back to the lab 'cause if you step you'll get dropped

Go back... to the Funky 97

Go back to that rack of wax and two twelves

'Cause back then we'd rap when caps sent the braincells

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?

If not then hot shot you'd better not pursue it

Go back... to the Funky 97