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!