Keep Your Receipt

Every time I turn on the radio I don't know what to believe
Seems every other sucka MC I hear fails to please my ear
Disposable scenes always reappear on MTV and BET
Hell, I'm too embarrassed to be an MC
So call me MC Phoney (Boney)
The Super-Disco Treat

Whatever happened to the old school beats
The new school is too cool, even for me
I want to return it but I lost my receipt

Well there once was a time when beats and rhymes
By design and thought were wrought for movements of all kinds
The mic was more than a tool/ it was a weapon
To cut through deception/ the symbol of progression
Since the inception to a generation later
We still mix mics with records and cross-faders
Hail to the mavericks and renegades/ the M.C. 'S of better days
I wanna thank you for the memories

We're just a three man party brigade
Kickin' it new school like Dr. Dre
And we're takin' ya back to the good ol' days
Where the reign of Rob Bass would make the whole
Place, move your feet, to the funky 'ol beat
And don't take that seat (why?)
Because that is mine
Like Cher I wish I could turn back time
And bring back every MC that I find