I ran with a few black kids on these quiet streets
's How I learned what it's like to be stopped by police
Stood firm in life around B-boys and thieves
And I earned me a mic among those that don't sleep

Peace to MANUEL – Where U at, black?
You used to spit them French rhymes – both dreaming of making tracks
Sisters weaving in braids – yo, it was good love
Watching YO! MTV RAPS – eating good grub


Before I met DJ FLIP at the record store
I had a group called DEPTHS OF UPROAR
My man BJORN used to be our deejay
When all we had was one song and about three crates

Growing up together – same street, same classes
When my name was A-RAPBIT and yours was GLASSES
Riding skateboards – puffing our first 'L'
Writing our first tag – copping our first twelve



Whether saving up money to go see RHYME CUT CORE
Or... Rapping along TLP Crossroads
Back when I loved all of Hip Hop
Especially that UK BLADE, MELL'O' and GUNSHOT

When all my rhymes had over 28 bars
Back when NAS was still NASTY NAS
Posse was large – city was burning
Graffiti everywhere – walls looking like Berlin

Then... Beef came in – cut the scene in half
Couldn't go to a show without a fight – things got bad
I guess that's kinda when we lost innocence
Acting all ignorant with lack of discipline

And every now and then things got so outta hand
that even City Hall put a stop to rap-jams
But we had plans to move this rap-shit forward
DJ FLIP, MEKO D. and myself... METAPHORA!



Before the NEW ERA we sported STARTER Caps
CARHARTT hoodies and jeans that sag
The dream we had was to rock on stage
And get respect from those who paved the way

Pass the reefer to my homegirl SHEEBA
Getting drunk after school – rocking high-top sneakers
The Golden Age – we rocked the hottest releases
Plus on top of that records were a lot cheaper

Copping mixtapes – GRAZZHOPPA was king
And the crowd used to jump when the TECHNICS spin
Cutting up copies of the same instrumentals
No hooks, no chorus... So skills was essential

And wack crews they got boo'ed off stage
And R'n'B was just proof of bad taste
When we used to go to shows to steal mics
Before we knew about this rat-race called life

This for those that remember – those who been at them spots
This for those still rocking – those we might a forgot
For those that don't know and those still puffin buddah
And for those of us who didn't live to see the future