Lyrics Hilltop Hoods

Hilltop Hoods

1979

Know what I'm sayin, in 1979

I was a two year old kid from Adelaide

I wasn't a performer

It seems to me that in 1999 Hip Hop's a business

In 1979 it was a culture

And I miss it

You're so fake its 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 Coochie 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, realize b-boys aren't faking that

Funk that you've forgotten hoe, 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

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

You 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 glass 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 Whitsetty, plus anything from Tribe

And old school New York that's still got the vibe