...down 155th in the MCM Snorkel

We was Escaping the bleak, pursuing a feeling Pressure pushed them towards the instinct of brilliance Capture then scraping the breaks off to build songs They was in the park up between the buildings And they dancing face like “ah-hah” and “mm-hmm” Voice would echo, calling--slap off the buildings Anticipating ceremony to begin Food provided by the neighborhood dealers They phrase nothing-words like “biting” and “chilling” "Biting" meant that you was stealing and illing And so thusly you were def’ly not "chilling" They wouldn’t fuck with you just fuck with the real ones We had sayings called like "52s" and "fair ones" Ya’ll just got it on. You think y'have to kill, huh? Now it's calibers, for bullshit you 'ere, huh? And your music make us real niggas tear up Now my girlfriend’s name in B-More was Triva And her door knockers was bamboos, believe that And our two-toned Lees of course they was creased up Seen a god—Dapper Dan, down, and trucked up The type of MC you be back then is “sucka” Dons call ‘em honey dips Gold and grey money clips Selling out was not the lick Covet not another's clique Wasn’t cool just cause you rich Sit here, bang shots, [???] Black and Puerto Rican stars Twin rock the baddest furs, Le Tigre polos, fitted shirts Maximas was kitted up