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