You’re so fake, it’s plain to see who you truly are   Looking less like a b-boy, more like a movie star   Forget the funk and go look at that disco breaks   Sit down punk and take a look at what you make   it’s not hip hop, it’s something more sad sick and seedy   What’s popping that coochie got to do with graffiti?   And your r&b dance steps what about finger popping   B-boy electric shocking, windmills body rocking   So body body rock body body rock   I’ll take you back, break your back   Realize b-boys ain’t faking that   Fucked that you’ve forgotten hoe   How could you have gotten so far gone?   That you could never go back to the roots   1979, birthplace of the scratch, birthplace of the rhyme   You can feel it in your spine like your first taste of wine   We’ll make it back; it’ll just take some time   Remember kangol hats, fat laces and lino mats   Kids spinning on their back to the sugarhill wax   Now the sugarhills collapsed, and the sweets turned sour   Money’s walking my culture through its darkest hour   Now I wanna take you back, walk my way through time   I was 2 years old in 1979, but it’s a time that I miss   You ask what’s the difference.   Hip hop was then a culture now hip hops a business   Zulu started b-boying as a form of expression   To channel youths stress and their aggression   Now through the suggestion of record companies   Mc’s are pumping these problems back into your section   Isn’t it ironic, but not the sort that makes you laugh?   Cause MC’s are building futures by raping the past   Taking the glass of chardonnay and put it to your lips   I’d rather take a razorblade and put it to my wrist   Than sell records on the basis that I have to promote   Sniffing and selling coke, toting guns and smoking dope   You’re weaving the rope that you’ll hang yourself with   My only consolation is within the hip hop nation is   B-boy elements that can still get me open   Like Graff mags from Berlin, mix tapes from Oakland   Breakers from rock steady plus anything from tribe   And the old school New York thats still got the vibe   Remember kangol hats fat laces and lino mats   Kids spinning on their back to the sugarhill wax   Now the sugarhills collapsed, and the sweets turned sour   Money’s walking my culture through its darkest hour   Now I wanna take you back, walk my way through time   I was 2 years old in 1979, but it’s a time that I miss   You ask what’s the difference.   Hip hop was then a culture now hip hops a business