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