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Artist: Trife Diesel f/ Fly Guy, Kryme Life, Tommy Whispers
Album:  The Project Pope
Song:   '85 Hip-Hop
Typed by: Cno Evil

[Intro: Tommy Whispers]
T.M.F., T.M.F., always funky fresh
T.M.F., T.M.F., always funky fresh
Staten Isle...

[Tommy Whispers]
'85, where biddy-bop is hip-hop
Gucci style flip-flops, Gazelles and flattops
Sharks hit the rap top, guard the crackspots
And the mob, walked up in the joint and flashed glocks
And he said to lose your right hand, to cash shots
Padlock, drug dealers fighting over turf
Used to be one man, supplying all the work
Now young kids got they own, they was tired of getting jerked
You know them days when Germaine, used to run up on the train
Set it off, snuff you in your face, then jet off with your chain
Half-stepping like Kane, heavy on the purple rain
In the cypher with the gods building on a higher plain
You killed 'em when Slick Rick started spelling out his name
R, Ravishing, the kid was damaging
Any MC who stepped up and challenged them
Pan-handling, snatching purses was the thing
One gold cap, with the four finger rings
Volvo, shelltoes, the Bo's with the velcro
Block parties, door knockers on the hotties
Getting drunk, off Wild Oxes, Cool and Bacardi

[Trife Diesel]
Watch son move, watching Krush Groove, out with my dudes
Cutting school in back of 49, puffing on Kool's
Older Gods dropping jewels, niggas tappin' they brews
With the extra fat laces, tyin' knots in they shoes
Do it for creases, Playboy easters, it's newer leases
Back then that's when hip hop only had a few releases
Bamboo twisting up, reefer's banging the speakers
Getting busy with an old crew bus, cleaning my sneakers
Hitting my hood was the divas, and she like it, Queen Latifah
Forty deuces off the meter that's word to my Adidas
Listening to Biz Mark, rock it in the big park
I hate it when my parents said be home before it get dark
Clarks, British Knights, Balley's, the illest Nike's
All way cuts from Mo Better, kept a nigga right
Styling with the Casio watches, I was a little Trife
Jotting raps in my scrapbook, it was a little nice
KissFM, tuning in to Red Alert
While reciting a verse, ironing letters on my shirt
That was hip hop, and we here to keep it alive
20 years in the making, 85 to 05

[Fly Guy]
Aiyo, shelltops, leather bombers, sheepskin shit
Cardboard box, breakdancing, and doing backflips
Pissy matress, I respect them old school rappers
Tape deck full of classics, eight tracks, 8 ball jackets
Seude fabrics, Kangol hat, my shit was matching
Pumas with the fat laces, never caught the vapors
Jakes used to chase us, when we tried to steal the papers
Hit the back stairwell, jumping over crack viles
The year, '85, where the cables hang down
Peace out to every borough, but home is Staten Isle

[Kryme Life]
We them new school players with old school rules
I learned from the vets, respect my chess moves
Remember kangaroos, and comics from Stetsasonic
Used to be the beef with L and Moe Dee
Graffiti bounded cats got sprayed with crylon
Boxed braids, rocked Gazelle shades, and nylons
Breakdancing was a fad, got bad on boxes
Punks at the tub, rope changes to roxy
Games was called foxy, gangs was called posse
B-Boy stance, cold chillin' at the swat meets

[Chorus 2X: Tommy Whispers (Fly Guy) {Trife Diesel} ]
Walk with me, down memory lane
(It was cool but the drug dealers had more fame)
{It was a dope game, coke game, kangols and the rope change}