Intro:
Really wish I had stayed home and gotten high (Sample)
‘Stead of coming into this street and havin’ this awful fight (Sample)

Verse 1: Thes One
Yo in the darkness under the stairs
Shadow castin’ a silhouette pair of MC’s
Scribbling elegies, by candlelit night
Undead writers losin’ lives to rhyme fights
Tryin’ to bite, losin’ the limelight to the P
Who’s undercover in some L.A. hats?
40 days in the studio, struck water for [?]
A top of mountain made of milk crates
Throwin’ the tablet down, on top of breaks
Then dub it to black tapes for the chosen
People, who still live in the folklore
Of DJ Kool Herc, Bam and Grand Wizard Theodore
Before any punk with a keyboard could do it
Yo, Apache was the shit and every b-boy knew it
And so we do it, ‘cause we follow original rules
When only microphones and old records were tools
Flash forward 20 years later, they callin’ us haters
Yo popular rappers call it progress, they ain’t no greater
Than late 70’s disco, Puffy it sounded simple
Yo, it’s number one rap?
Y’all rather hear an 808 handclap
Than that miscontrolled use of culture
That I love and grew up in
So many of the wrong mother fuckers blew up
In the late ‘90s, here it is
Either love your art form or be a star in showbiz
And get paid and get money
Me and Double K’ll sit back with a sack yo
And just monkey with funky breaks
Then press it on black tapes
Payin’ homage to greats, then spread across U.S. States
Makin’ show dates, diggin’ in crates, payin’ dues
We’re a local, national, international crew
Verse Two: Double K
Never thought when I was comin’ up that I would be the average
Skateboardin’, football playin’, I was into stayin’ in the house
Droppin’ needles on albums I didn’t know about
AM stereo, frequently I never cared about
Wrestlin’ and ice cream trucks
Just wanted to ride with my cousin E.J
Because his car had bumps
My brother swear to pick me up
Bump loud down Crenshaw
To his pad in Gardena where he let a n***a get off
Gave me doubles of Funky Drummer, took the rest of the crates
Locked me up inside his room, 14 years later I’m straight
And y’all should blame it on that man for the havoc I wreak
Taught me to speak through techniques, and never critique
A DJ with no rhythm just pull the plug and be out
Get some records from that fool, that’s what I’m talkin’ about
And ol’ n***as like that to me get ‘nuff respect
Cash checks, carry TECs, believe in SP-12s
Raise hell about they vinyl, if it’s not in its place
Can rock a house with two crates, and always showin’ up late
Ayo to y'all I say thanks and I’ma keep it ridin’ ‘til never
And Double’s in this

Outro:
And Thes One’s in this
And Double K’s in this
And Thes One’s in this
Yo, and yo the P’s in this
And Double K’s in this
And Thes One’s in this
Yo, and L.A.’s in this
What?
Yeah