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}