90's Kid

Yeah, um
I was about 11
And it was the first day of 6th grade
Teacher came around
Asking everybody what their name and favorite song was
It was a "get to know you" thing
And I said "My name is Cory, and my favorite song is Gangstas Paradise by Coolio"
Back then that was the most emotional song I had ever heard
Prior to that I was real in to Michael Jackson
I grew up with my parents listening to Pink Floyd and Led Zepplin, stuff like that
Classic rock shit
And uh
I love that shit, I listen to that shit a lot, um
But, Gangstas Paradise
And then shortly after that I think it was 1st of the Month by Bone
They were different
I mean, for obvious reasons, but like
You know, the shit was speaking to me in a different kind of way
I never really related to anything these rock guys were talking about
And I never even thought about Country, cuz that shit was not my bag
Um
Hip Hop was speaking to me in a specific way
And uh
A lot of it doesn't do that anymore

Now in my younger days I used to sport a saaaaaag
Pants off the ass ball cap toward the back
Runnin off the bus inside the house to grab a snack
Then attack the TV remote MTV I need me rap
This was 94, 95, I was like, 12
Had the VCR on standby bootlegging for myself
I ain't even really supposed to witness this
Mom and Dad had wagged the finger and strictly forbidden it
But I had to study all the cadences and patterns of the words
Watchin for the placements and the usage of the verbs
Figuring out how to count the bars in different intervals
Hit pause rewind write it down learn the principles (Uh)
Maybe I got too technical in my understanding
But if your flow isn't landing I probably wont be jamming
I ain't against having fun with it
But c'mon man, yall just floating the ball at the batter underhanded
I digress, part from the heart in my chest
Outer body experience, ghostwrite a Rhymefest
I fear no evil with the pen and pad
Bitch I'm bad, all of yall are ripped pages call it spineless
Tough guy talk but lads lie often
Only shit yall boxing is a damn pine coffin
Mouth shuts frame becomes Pad Thai pasta
And the dick tucks when a real bad guy walks in, huh
You ain't gotta be no one but you homie
But recognize if this shit just isn't for you homie
You paid for new shoes, tattoos and views homie
When the only thing that you had to pay was some dues homie
You'z a phoney, I could smell that bullshit in the air
Same place you put your hands pretending that you don't care
We know the truth, you're lookin for acceptance every bar
Hoping that everyone who hears it thinks you're buying the bar
You want the status you don't want the grind
You want the mansions free without the time
You want the plaques without the skill to rhyme
You say that shit is dead but I
Decline to agree, I can hear ya peers lines and some of them blow my mind
I wont lie I dig the vibe and most of yall in your bag
But some are disrespectful haven't studied the past
And maybe that's reflection of the lessons we've passed
When we started putting money and drugs over the craft