* vocal interludes sampled from time is running out by the last poets[q-tip]Back in the days when I was a teenagerBefore I had status and before I had a pagerYou could find the abstract listening to hip hopMy pops used to say, it reminded him of be-bopI said, well daddy don’t you know that things go in cyclesThe way that bobby brown is just ampin like michaelIts all expected, things are for the lookinIf you got the money, quest is for the bookinCome on everybody, let’s get with the fly modesStill got room on the truck, load the back boomListen to the rhyme, to get a mental pictureOf this black man, through black woman victimWhy do I say that, cuz I gotta speak the truth manDoing what we feel for the music is the proof andPlanted on the ground, the act is so togetherBonafied strong, you need leverage to severThe unit, yes, the unit, yes, the unit called the jazz isDeliberatley cheered lp filled with streeet goodsYou can find it on the rack in your record store (store)If you get the record, then your thoughts are adoredAnd appreciated, cause we’re ever so glad we made itWe work hard, so we gotta thank godDishin out the plastic, do the dance till you spasticIf you dis… it gets drasticListen to the rhymes, cuz it’s time to make gravyIf it moves your booty, then shake, shake it babyAll the way to africa a.k.a. the motherland (uh)Stick out the left, then I’ll ask for the other handThat’s the right hand, black man (man)Only if you was noted as my man (man)If I get the credit, then I’ll think I deserve itIf you fake moves, don’t fix your mouth to word itGet in the zone of positivity, not negativityCuz we gotta strive for longevityIf you botch up, what’s in that (ass) (what? )A pair of nikes, size ten-and-a-half (come on, come on)Chorus:We gotta make movesNever, ever, ever could we fake moves (come on, come on) (4x)Time.. time is a ship on a merciless seaDrifting toward an average of nothingnessUntil it can be retarded for it’s own destinyTime is an inanimate objectPraying and praying and praying for ? ? Time is dancing, moving lingering all memories of past..-> the last poetsYou gotta be a winner all the timeCan’t fall prey to a hip hop crimeWith the dope raps and dope tracks for you for blocksFrom the fly girlies to the hardest of the rocksMusically the quest, is on the riseWe on these excursions so you must realizeThat continually, I pop my zuluIf you don’t like it, get off the zulu tipSo what could you do in the times which existYou can’t fake moves on your brother or your sisBut if your sis is a (bitch), brother is a jerkLeave ’em both alone and continue with your workWhatever it may be in today’s societyEverything is fair, at least that how it seems to meYou must be honest and true to the nextDon’t be phony and expect one not to flexEspecially if you rhyme, you have to live by the penYour man is your man, then treat him like your friendAll it is, is the code of the streetsSo listen to the knowledge bein dropped over beatsBeats that are hard, beats that are funkyIt could get you hooked like a crackhead junkieWhat you gotta do to is know that the tribe is in the sphereThe abstract poet, prominent like shakespeareChorusEdgar allan poe, it don’t stop (uh!)Time is running out on black power africans todayAnd whites blacks and reporters at nightEverytime you see them ? ? with their tongues hangin outTime is running and past and passing and runningRunning and past and passing and running (excursions)