Earth Travelers

There's no better way to start your day then this
 Checking out the supreme two, recover the blitz
 That was once in hip-hop, but lately, this shit's cheap
 Every man sound like another look-a-like in the street
 And that's bad, that ain't nothing to brag and boast about
 Get on TV, fake the funk, and show out
 Ay-yo, that's high school shit, niggas need to present
 Something like this, hanging with the purpose of kicks
 Back hands and fly rhymes, and Thes with the loops
 Something lovely for the troop, in a jeep or a coupe
 'Cause its universe-atile, you know the way it was
 When everybody enjoy the body rock in the clubs
 But, yo, nowadays, it's either this or it's that
 I rather diss real quick with a baseball bat
 The hat stays to the back, and the sack steady burned
 The way cool West rocker with stripes to earn
 Not the tape you claim, that ain't the game I play
 In the cut, I lay twats and study day-to-day
 The masters of the cere- taking care of the crowd
 I get cheers when I'm moving, if- yo, if not, they're booing
 It don't matter, I still do it, strike harder than first
 Put everything I been thinking into one long verse
 Without a curse, without the bullshit, running it down
 They way I do it kinda spooks, spread it over your town
 For these Starbuck-niggas running up to the mic
 They don't excite, they bite, going against the rules
 Like it's nothing, but it's day is coming
 And one time, me and Thes'll be, like, here... laughing and shit...
 Don't pass it up...
 Yo, I roughly rearrange, connect text through context, to set a frame
 (Alright...) I allow my lyrical campaign through vocal grain
 With well-trained thoughts, I spot stains in the fabric of time
 With the magic of mind, I fabricate rhyme connections
 Then harvest pop culture with old record collections
 With soul in our ears, we hear loops they can't
 And free the lost rhythms of indigenous chants
 We hip-hop enhanced like banging on lunch tables
 Ransacking Radio Shack for RCA cables
 Hats with your name sown on at the Swap
 Yo, it's all in our blood, pulled out through red drops
 Until we stop, we claim a separation that always has been
 Since when Hard Bop broke from Cool Jazz
 From the West and manifest the style like Hampton Hawes
 As yet, Thes rap-like Gods and show flaws on others
 I went from pa's loop tapes to twenty-four crates
 Discovered: history repeats, so I looped beats
 Collect loot on the streets, keep the people out of their seats
 At shows with the long-handed flows of polysyllabic prose
 And No-Doze, administered no sleep
 Yo, we come from the Sunset, and that packs heat
 You see, the style is westerly, like the winds of change
 You see, this style packs heat like things cooked on a range
 You see, this range is cultural spare change that's forgot
 Thes-One'll keep the art form hot...
 Dedicated... to... every forgotten crew
 Dedicated... to... all those Los Angeles crews
 Dedicated... to... all the DJs... still doing it from back in the day
 Dedicated to South Bronx... Look where we at now, y'all...
 Dedicated...
 To L.A. (repeated on double delay)
 To find out where you fit in, call your recreation office and get behind the act.
 Just for the fun of it!
 Who knows?
 Inside you, there may be a masterpiece!