Speaking for Hip-Hop - Funky DL

middle finger in the air and stereo blaring /

loud enough to loose your hearing, that don’t mean I’m a killer /

I just like to turn it up like J Dilla

Verse One //

Check it, word up, I’m here to set the record straight /

also here to dedicate this to the peoples who judge us /

the ones that’s trying to move but can’t budge us /

snooty nosed, bitch mother-fuckers /

just because I’m from the streets and I talk a little different /

the upper class look at me like «he's so ignorant /

he’s no role model, he shows no gratitude /

he probably grew up listening to them nigga’s with an attitude /

I’m guessing that he never worked a day in his life /

and probably never went to school, I pray that he might» /

I’m an A grade student, I love jazz music /

just as smart as the rest and if I’m wrong nigga' prove it /

Hip-Hop is my movement and there’s no contest /

and by the way I grew up listening to A Tribe Called Quest /

yes I’m young and I’m black and I got the skills to rap /

that don’t mean that I pack and I never sold Crack /

and you wonder why I’m mad, even just a little bit?

/

Cos' you talk a lot of Clay Davis that means «sheeeeeiiiit» /

your word against mine, no contest /

go find somebody else to criticise with your nonsense /

there’s eight million stories in the city, it’s a pity /

I don’t fuck with you nigga’s when you start to act shitty /

give a shout out to Guru, Premo and Zulu Nation /

they all foundation up in this /

cos' rap records taught foreigners to speak English /

and turned the young into distinguished men /

that’s why I always got my pad and my pen /

forever saying this again and again

Verse Two //

Yo', I got their backs against the wall with this shit /

see that’s what you get for trying to call us misfits /

we street poets, just on beats flowing /

so why you gonna' judge somebody when you don’t know em'?

(ha) /

that’s retarded /

just cos I make beats that’s the hardest and speak street slang like «raatid» /

«bombaclarted» you say it’s all garbage /

well how do you explain the rap records that have charted?

/

I started rhyming on the school benches /

and learned how to beat a microphone senseless /

it’s the gift that I nurtured, these beats that I murdered /

and you still don’t know what it means when rappers say «word up» /

I don’t blame you but if you try to discredit my art /

I will name you and shame you, I swear down /

close your mouth, I don’t wanna hear a mere sound /

Hip-Hop's been so hospitable to so many cultures, it’s un-fuck-wit-able /

so I had to make this record it was critical /

to reiterate these two fucking syllables /

Hip-Hop, in the streets we the Generals