Lyrics
Lost in the music and no one understands me
My friends, the fans, my wisdom and family
Make your heads bop and that's not enough
Gold and platinum plaques is still not enough
From the streets of Queens I hail
Who's gonna be there if my attempts fail?
Is it you, you, you, her or him?
I am like a tree and every lyric is a limb
The studio sessions, pain on paper
In the other studio records Large Pro
In between verses we break bread
The beats, the rhymes, ways to get ahead
School days, Stanley Clarke
Grandmaster Vic live in Baisley Park
Coke ass life, it blared out the speakers
Blue and white high tops, spot built sneakers
My name in graffiti, gosh one X-Men
A crew of co-writers at the time were my best friends
Black books designers, the smell of the Krylon
Bus to the terminal to meet up with Driptron
It's a Queens thing
Yeah
Uh huh
Word, word
Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence
And I learned that the state I may be in, there is to be content
Some hit the books, others hit the block
I create beats, he's got a jump shot
Freddy's on the corner drinking 180 proof
'Cause his pregnant niece jumped from the project roof
Another family mourns, absence of malice
A woman gives birth, fertility, Earth
I formulate the rhyme and chop it up in sections
Let me be your angel and I'll be your protection
Concrete jungle, fly like a dove
Bernard Wright record title, who do you love?
Manchild in the ghetto, my father loved jazz
Quincy Jones, Summertime, Razzmatazz
It played from an 8-track, Night Train, Thunderbird
Sip from a plastic cup
Word, word
Word
The marvelous richness of human experience
Would lose something of reward and joy
If there were no limitations to overcome
The hilltop hour would not be half so wonderful
If there were no dark valleys to traverse
Nostalgia
New York, Tenderberry