Blame It on the Hip Hop

Came in the 80s but born in the 70's

Raised on radio rakim and eric B

Chuck d and BDP that was my therapy

Blasting in my headphones to hear what they telling me

But apparently currently all i'll ever see

Is running from these bullies in the hood trying to get at me

Late nights scaring me gun shots a melody

Came up dead last kind of like the letter z

And all my neighbors got a felony

And all my teachers do is yell at me

But I don't know where in hell i'd be

If Jesus didn't step in and kick the sin out of me

I found a recipe and remedy

So rest in peace to every little piece of the older me

So when it's over and ya bury me

Leave the mic in my hand so i died as an emcee

If my hat's to the left you can blame it on the hip hop

If I got a way that I step you can blame it on the hip hop

And if I keep my kicks fresh you can blame it on the hip hop

If my life is so blessed you can blame it on the hip hop

If its still about lyrics blame it on the hip hop

If your raps I don't feel it blame it on the hip hop

And if i still wanna kill it blame it on the hip hop

Father Son and the Spirit they be reigning in my hip hop

Born in the 80s raised in the 90s

Grew up on that Wu-tang slang and straight grimy

Find me in the cipher spitting freestyles

Emcees all around like a swarm of killer bees

Protect your neck bars are sharp like killer teeth

Claim you got game son I got skill

Sure you pop steel when you cop that deal

Uou is not real and my crew does not feel

These studio thugs cause the block is too real

The truth was revealed when the blood got spilled

Aggression pressing wrong buttons stop fronting

Top and cutting to the bone home sharpen rhymes

Microphone firearms stay out of harms way

Lyrical bullets watch what God say when I pull it

No ducking just busting goldin tongue flow smooth on percussion

Rip through your tissue hit you direct in your heart muscle

In the midst of the struggle you say uncle

You've overpowered by a circumstance

We advance forward never quit be here to the end of it

Remember this Ak when I spit like this you can blame it on the hip hop

I been around it bro

Way before the lobes knew of the rocks or Rolls

Betty Crocker though, use it for pasta bowls

The pros spewing to lock and load

Cock the four, flu game, get a shot for those

Just another slight, cocky male

Rocking over beat box battles and cafeteria acapelles

You could prolly tell back when I was prolly 12

I was a number one chief rocka, popping my lapel

Head knocking over Rock The Bells

Switching accents, to track suits, Applejack and a blocky cell

Scarface, Hugh Heffy with a few models

Some Esco, Big Poppa, and a lotta L

Only Mac I knew, coming wit gun powder

And spitting a lot of babble outta one tower

But I ain't worried about a God MC

Cause the God, JC got the globe and He runs ours