Those were the days, back in Junior High

For an 8th grader, my style was kinda fly

And just to prove I was an MC Pro

I often sponsored a classroom show

And the hype part of my imagination

Was making my homeroom a hip hop station

Minutes before the late bell would ring

I would greet the audience and then I'll swing

A lyric or two as the students barked

Beacuse my rhymes had sparked

Off somethign causing the class to mingle

To a rhythm which is now a 12" single

Letting off many styles of hip hop

Holding the mic that I made in wood shop

Forget gold, my key chain was a cable

Two math textbooks were turntables

And for a mixer, something much cooler

A penny being cross faded on a ruler

Measuring dope beats that were flexed

From hands that played a drum roll on a desk

From my home girl, her name, fly as Emory

Sweet memory

I remember sitting in my art class

Drawing up lyrics kinda fast

The outcome, a masterpiece

Live shows with hyped up rhymes released

As if lyrics were flowing from the heavens above

I'll grab a mic and provoke a push to a shove

From boys and girls who broke necks to see

The lyrics G.O.D.

Those were the days

Now it's high school, lunch room's the scene

And I'm ready to flip the routing

In the cafeteria, period three

And here I come with the JVC

I go in my pocket and pull out a mic

Plug it in, check one-two...alright

Now who wanna show and prove their MC skills?

A brother stepped forward and tried to get ill

But when it came time to live out his name

He kicked rhymes that all sounded the same

But I did him in with a matter of time

And he was done wi