Those were the days, back in Junior High
For an 8th grader, my style was kinda fly
And just to prove I was an MC Pro
I often sponsored a classroom show
And the hype part of my imagination
Was making my homeroom a hip hop station
Minutes before the late bell would ring
I would greet the audience and then I'll swing
A lyric or two as the students barked
Beacuse my rhymes had sparked
Off somethign causing the class to mingle
To a rhythm which is now a 12" single
Letting off many styles of hip hop
Holding the mic that I made in wood shop
Forget gold, my key chain was a cable
Two math textbooks were turntables
And for a mixer, something much cooler
A penny being cross faded on a ruler
Measuring dope beats that were flexed
From hands that played a drum roll on a desk
From my home girl, her name, fly as Emory
Sweet memory
I remember sitting in my art class
Drawing up lyrics kinda fast
The outcome, a masterpiece
Live shows with hyped up rhymes released
As if lyrics were flowing from the heavens above
I'll grab a mic and provoke a push to a shove
From boys and girls who broke necks to see
The lyrics G.O.D.
Those were the days
Now it's high school, lunch room's the scene
And I'm ready to flip the routing
In the cafeteria, period three
And here I come with the JVC
I go in my pocket and pull out a mic
Plug it in, check one-two...alright
Now who wanna show and prove their MC skills?
A brother stepped forward and tried to get ill
But when it came time to live out his name
He kicked rhymes that all sounded the same
But I did him in with a matter of time
And he was done wi
