Seasons

One two
It’s Masta Ace, Cunninlyguists
We about to get into the seasons
The seasons of hip hop
How we gonna start it?
As we spring back to the past, it was all happening fast
We glorified coke and smoking crack in a glass
When b-boys danced to the latest jam
You could say this man was the greatest fan
When shoelaces were fat, and all the rapper’s faces were black
And light-brown, a box with the right sound was all you needed
When it blast… they must move
You just proved you’re hard like L in Krush Groove
And songs started to drop — Ain’t nobody start at the top
Before Preme (DJ Premier) learned the art of the chop
This is way before SP’s…and MPC’s
And long before CD’s and MP3's
The game started to bloom and blossom
And masters ready for the cermony, like a groom in costume
Growth from the rain of the previous years
I took notes from what I heard through these devious ears
Yeah
As Summer’s heatwaves ascended in it’s splendid manner
Green was flooding our scene, although the skin was tanner
Fuck The Police! jumpin over radio scanners
It was hot in the shade, wet paint all over the canvans
Fuck Vanilla Ice cones, we had T, Cube’s Amerikka’s Most
And wanted that Chronic on the Left-Coast
Talent pools were full and fresh for swimming
Backstrokin’through Dark Sides and Illmatic beginnings
Them lemonade stands would make you street platinum
It was 2 Live. Florida crews caught heat for rappin
But free speech pollination kept bee’s colonizing in hives
And stung Delores Tucker right in her pride
The Tribes ocean splash was rising the tide
Strictly 4 My Niggaz that were ready to die in the ride
I wish the summer’s vibe could’ve lasted forever
To bad we had to have a change in that weather. that shit was beautiful