Pump the real rap false crap to the back  
 I stay true to the vibe and the flavor the old school  
 Gave you what all others lacked  
 Integrity contained in the grain of the lines  
 Artistic expression conveyed in the rhymes  
 Critics dismissed it and dissed it and wished it would die  
 But it lifted and strengthened the mind  
 Now the nineties are here so have fear it's getting washed out  
 All the original vibes are being tossed out  
 Taken from the streets and jacked for the beats  
 These companies are weak their songs incomplete  
 They seek to sell hip hop but instead they disrespect it  
 Dissect it use what they can sell and then neglect it  
 Everywhere I turn I find a sucker with a rhyme  
 Not an M.C. 'cause an M.C. knows the time  
 Rap is popping up like toast from coast to coast  
 They try to boast that their style is so dope  
 But it won't last a round when the real sound macks  
 "For all the pioneers I'm going way back"  
 Go back... to the Funky 97  
 Lyrics have been kicking hard from day one  
 I wake around noon I squint at the sun  
 Consider all my chores each day I catch more  
 Throw on my drawers before I get the job done  
 I step out the apt. without delay  
 Walkman pumping "It's a brand new day"  
 I'm gonna meet the keen-one when suddenly I see some  
 Ducks in a truck playing "Ice Ice Babe"  
 Down upon my ears my worst fears had ascended  
 I guess I must admit that at the shit I was offended  
 They proceeded to park stepped in the minute-mart  
 I thought to myself "The situation is splendid"  
 I stepped up to it and began to analyze the  
 Scene in green I tagged my name "Pete Miser"  
 Wide strokes in green dripping down the hood while I'm flipping  
 The pilot in my pocket is my duty to advise a  
 Bandwagon buster not to dis hip hop  
 The shit they hit it makes me wonder how they get props  
 As if you didn't know it takes the skills to flow  
 Go back to the lab 'cause if you step you'll get dropped  
 Go back... to the Funky 97  
 Go back to that rack of wax and two twelves  
 'Cause back then we'd rap when caps sent the braincells  
 Flying toys dying many punks sunk denying  
 Their fronting ain't it something fluffing nothings still trying  
 To come off but the drums lost their weak minds  
 I cultivate a great state of thought caught between lines  
 These toys nowadays employ the sound waves  
 To get paid and laid but still played the proud ways  
 Don't understand the plan the man or my reasons  
 Wack rhyme's a crime and I'm trying you for treason  
 You're a goner if I catch you on a corner in a freestyle  
 But I never will you lack skills that's why you're on trial  
 Go back to the basics or face it your fake shit  
 Wastes airspace it's a disgrace when you make it  
 If it don't sell well tell me would you do it?  
 If not then hot shot you'd better not pursue it  
 Go back... to the Funky 97