Suffa - 1979 lyrics

[Intro: Suffa] Know what I'm sayin In 1979 I was a two year old kid from Adelaide I wasn't a fourteen year old kid from the Bronx It seems to me that in 1999 Hip Hop's a business In 1979 it was a culture And I miss it [Verse 1: Suffa] 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 hook up those 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 Gucci 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, realise b-boys aren't faking that Funk that you've forgotten ho, how could you have gotten so far gone? That you could never stop and go Back to the roots, nineteen seventy nine Birthplace of the scratch, birthplace of the rhyme You'll feel it in your spine like your first taste of wine We'll make it back; it'll just take some time [Hook: Suffa] Remember Kangol hats, fat laces and lino mats Kids spinning on their backs to the sugar hill wax Now the sugar hills collapsed and the sweets turned sour Moneys walking my culture through its darkest hour Now I wanna take you back, walk on through time I was two years old in nineteen seventy nine But it's a time that I miss; you ask "what's the difference" Hip-hop was then a culture, now hip-hop's a business [Verse 2: Suffa] 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 And isn't it ironic? But not the sort that makes you laugh Cause MC's are building futures by raping the past Taking a gla** of Chardonnay and putting it to your lips I'd rather take a razor blade 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 all 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 old school New York that's still got the vibe [Hook: Suffa] Remember Kangol hats, fat laces and lino mats Kids spinning on their backs to the sugar hill wax Now the sugar hills collapsed and the sweets turned sour Moneys walking my culture through its darkest hour Now I wanna take you back, walk on through time I was two years old in nineteen seventy nine But it's a time that I miss; you ask "what's the difference" Hip-hop was then a culture, now hip-hop's a business