[Verse 1: Skirmish]

It’s funny how I fell in love with my first YO
Blood, sweat, tears in every verse wrote
With every word spoke but I’ll do this music
If I'll earn dough or I was dirt broke
Lyrical exercise but people respect the grind
More than they respect the rhymes
We make sure the names of all the heads that died
Will always be kept alive and how long will they mourn me?
Everyday until the end of time
Look at the legacy they left behind
The one love to the lyricists that still exist
Cause I couldn’t picture this
(It was all a dream)
Before it was thoughts i'd seen
When I close my eyes and fall asleep but now I’m living it
This rapping shit ain’t a passing phase
Cause the habit is hard to break, I can’t escape

*Scratching*

[Verse 2: Psiklone]

I put my soul in every rhyme that I write
(Big L rest in peace)
Cause ripping mics is the light of my life
I’ve been fed up and my stomach is cramped
The scene has practically vanished but my hunger is back
And classics are haphazard, all I see is backpackers, whack rappers
Black hatters and backstabbers as if that matters
When we’re out laying the ground breaking foundations like jackhammers
Miss ripping ciphers at open mics
It’s a lifestyle, we rock our clothes oversized
Inspired as an adolescent
By Roc Raida on cross faiders
Scratching with battle weapons
It’s my passion, banging the beats
For DJs and b-boys and the graff on the streets
This is hop hop music’s in the vision
Bringing you back to boombap fused with super-lyricism
[Verse 3: Possessed]

I’m still a fan of this shit far from marital bliss
But I’mma stick with it till I’m carried by six
What happened to Em? What happened to bis
Will I be the next rapper to slip? (crazy)
No better way of expressing myself
See there’s hip hop then there’s everything else
We go against the grain, change the game
And we pave the way while you stay the same
So pay homage, the difference is
We give to this hip hop shit, not take from it
Every word in the pad, every verse every track
Word till the verge of collapse
Never turning my back, my life is hip hop
Live, breathe, spit, bleed, and die for hip hop
How much time is left? Hip hop’s not dead, it’s dying
And this here is its final breath