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DJ East 137
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Book of Rhymes
one
I still got that book of rhymes you gave me
And I remember when our worlds got crazy
Should we dwell so much in the past
Aint it enough we couldn't make it last
I still got that book of rhymes you gave me
One
Got eight million stories, I'll pick one
Let you know how me and the Bronx became one
Harlem Hospital, late September
Everyone tells that I shouldn't remember
But I do, and it doesn't feel good,
Dewayne McCray, that's my man
This is sponsored by the spirit of Jazzy Jew Man
First the eighties, everyone's macho
And Rod Strickland played with the Gauchos
I got hard knocks from the hard rocks
Watching friends floating up to the docks
Before that, one of them made bail
Then his mom got his finger in the mail
I tried to tell him but he was too fly
The best way to live is not try to die
You could hustle, you can ball, you can bust,
But when it comes to pay man you must
When other hoods would reach out to feel us
I got good at robbing drug dealers
I gave it all to the boss of the block
Traded for protection, I couldn't be stopped
With power comes responsibility
And everybody wants to test your ability
Made a record, Red Alert tossed it
So I got Chuck-Chill-Out to floss it
Worked at a label, but the real thing
Made a DEA stash look like a small thing
All good things come to an end
But there's plenty other good stuff right round the bend
For me that bend was all too violent,
That when I learned it pays to be silent
Quiet took me to the nation's capital
Laying low became quite habitual
Took my time, earned an education
I'm wanted all across this nation
I'm special Ed in more than one way
Sure I got it made but I'm not in the shade
The eighties gave birth to IDEA
For the nineties keep it locked right here
Two
I still got that book of rhymes you gave me
And I remember when our worlds got crazy
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Should we dwell so much in the past
Aint it enough we couldn't make it last
I still got that book of rhymes you gave me
This is the decade of unsolved felonies
Where fighting with the hands is a distant memory
Don't look forward to a jam in the park
It's possible to get jammed in the park
War if brewing, neighborhoods cooking
Paranoia makes you think everyone's looking
Shakur and Wallace what's to say
Except that hip hop was never the same way
Took that vinyl straight to stylus
And made it bang just like a stylist
Mitchell Housing took raps to heart
Arm & Hammer ripped blocks apart
Through the manure I could smell the flowers
Then Aunt May said I had some powers
But they weren't enough to save JM
His mom took back the breath that she gave him
Sometime later, like a Greek stage play
I'm not lying, she died on his birthday
After mom dukes mean streets made me
I find it difficult to shake you blame me
This aint fiction, more like friction
It's a wonder how I dodged addiction
A new decade with new ideas
A black president, new types of fears
And that record they said would flop
Selling on ebay, hundred dollars a pop
The JM wouldn't even believe that
It would be something if he did and came back
When that door shuts it's understood
It's not shut for a minute it's shut for good
Me and the Bronx go back like walkman
Way before hip hop, before pacman
Sydney Poitier got best picture
Mississippi mishap, still stays with ya
Do the math it's been a long time
But Boogie Down remains on the mind
Got a fetish for that uptown six line
Fordham, the hub, Gun Hill, it's all mine
Expressways are still the same
But underneath many things have changed
I still got that book of rhymes you gave me
And I remember when our worlds got crazy
Should we dwell so much in the past
Aint it enough we couldn't make it last
I still got that book of rhymes you gave me
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