I remember that summer, up in the crib||
Just like Adam with the missing rib||
The cocaine kids, where they used to live||
The hairdresser used to talk, yeah, real, real glib||
But I got a grapevine, heard he's going into fits||
The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind||
Of how the dumb monkeys got gorilla in the midst||
Of a struggle via fist for a slice and a 5th||
Back then, I didn't used to rip shows||
I'd brodown quick, no shit, sherlock||
Nerd hop, no never, I'd never talk shop||
I'd only talk drop, like drop your drink||
Drop your pants, drop your plans||
Drop your friends, drop your hand||
Drop and link, pop and lock||
For a young have-not, we used to grab props||
And stunts like Bruce Willis, whatcha talkin' 'bout?!||
[Chorus x8]
The youth crew's back
Silent summers disagreed about||
I got hammers in the wrist in the line of gout||
I miss those kids with the rubber headbands||
And deadpan comedy clothespinned to their dresses||
No spins, just presses, preferably full courtship||
More skin contortioned, I'm not very sharp||
But I'll dull importance if you're down for a lark||
Oh, you know me? Oh, you know about Sharks?||
You're so referential, let's party at the Shark, Tank||
Green to the scene, hardly even started||
Hip-hop hipsters, dearly departed||
Cover the phrase and keep in your locket||
We're all on the floor, regretting the week||
With no shame on top or beneath the sheets||
Youth funeral, yeah, send me a wreath||
[Chorus x8]
[breakdowns]
Met the young girl that I seen on Defamer||
Told her talk like sex? No, talk like Kramer||
"If you wanna check me||
Baby, I'm easy"||
You're a cute little styler with half-eaten rider||
Cut off your fitted cap, take your power like Sylar||
I run out the clock, report to the mizer||
Rhymewise, I'm a lifer, with a bullet-ridden bedpost||
Nose to the grind stone, dig until your mind's blown||
Throne abuse, the girls got loose on fructose juice||
At the hop ala Halo, take shots like Salo||
At the time I was speaking with track 9 on this album||
Clubgoers powder their nose, no talcum||
I still rock the Ayres like the Rub||
Wish the kids would still sneak into the club||
I remember that summer, up in the crib|| Just like Adam with the missing rib|| The cocaine kids, where they used to live|| The hairdresser used to talk, yeah, real, real glib|| But I got a grapevine, heard he's going into fits|| The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind|| Of how the dumb monkeys got gorilla in the midst|| Of a struggle via fist for a slice and a 5th|| Back then, I didn't used to rip shows|| I'd brodown quick, no shit, sherlock|| Nerd hop, no never, I'd never talk shop|| I'd only talk drop, like drop your drink|| Drop your pants, drop your plans|| Drop your friends, drop your hand|| Drop and link, pop and lock|| For a young have-not, we used to grab props|| And stunts like Bruce Willis, whatcha talkin' 'bout?!||
[Chorus x8] The youth crew's back
Silent summers disagreed about|| I got hammers in the wrist in the line of gout|| I miss those kids with the rubber headbands|| And deadpan comedy clothespinned to their dresses|| No spins, just presses, preferably full courtship|| More skin contortioned, I'm not very sharp|| But I'll dull importance if you're down for a lark|| Oh, you know me? Oh, you know about Sharks?|| You're so referential, let's party at the Shark, Tank|| Green to the scene, hardly even started|| Hip-hop hipsters, dearly departed|| Cover the phrase and keep in your locket|| We're all on the floor, regretting the week|| With no shame on top or beneath the sheets|| Youth funeral, yeah, send me a wreath||
[Chorus x8]
[breakdowns]
Met the young girl that I seen on Defamer|| Told her talk like sex? No, talk like Kramer|| "If you wanna check me|| Baby, I'm easy"|| You're a cute little styler with half-eaten rider|| Cut off your fitted cap, take your power like Sylar|| I run out the clock, report to the mizer|| Rhymewise, I'm a lifer, with a bullet-ridden bedpost|| Nose to the grind stone, dig until your mind's blown|| Throne abuse, the girls got loose on fructose juice|| At the hop ala Halo, take shots like Salo|| At the time I was speaking with track 9 on this album|| Clubgoers powder their nose, no talcum|| I still rock the Ayres like the Rub|| Wish the kids would still sneak into the club||
[Chorus x16]