Mr. Sos - The Format lyrics

The Format [Verse 1: Deacon The Villain] If we gonna start from scratch, you start with wax If there's no dish, then there's no rap Records, albums, vinyl, the facts Give us a stack of records and we'll give you 12 tracks The agreement turned cement 40 years ago Hip Hop, the vinyl frontier The embryo Two turntables a mic and a cold stereo, DJ, one MC, the imperial Many many put their muse to it Sent bop, sent rock, sent blues through it From cla**ical to jazz we can who's who it Or blow the dust off and groove to it Lets ride B-side on direct drive You know that crackle give the best high Give me a needle, a cartridge, a partridge, some tree, 45s and a 33, let it be [Verse 2: Masta Ace] A new format hit the scene like way back It was smaller and more convenient than 8-track You could pop it in your car on a long drive Play the album or fast-forward to song five If you pa**ed the song you had to rewind it back It was kind of frustrating trying to find a track Memorex, Ampex down to TDK Where the Biz was on the radio with BDK When they was on the air, I was on the pause-bu*ton I had the best taste but I ain't trying to cause nothing Cause everybody thought their paws was the raws Cats used to battle, this sh** used to cause wars We would trade tapes, that was the best it could be Busy Bee had the fever for Treacherous Three Having the best tapes, was like a status symbol The yellow tape, purple tape to the baddest demo Battles travel from the Bronx to Baltimore They would stand by the speaker to record them all Them same tapes that was labeled with a thick marker Made the neighbourhood rappers want to spit sharper If my tape pop trust, I was ready man A razor blade, scotch tape and a steady hand I call it surgery My ca**ette went under the knife and brought back to life Man that worth it to me [Hook: Deacon The Villain] If you want it, I got it That which makes you move "It's... the format baby" If you want it, I got it That which makes you cool "It's... the format baby" [Verse 3: Kno] My relationship with ba** and kicks had come full circle Plastic and cheap but I clapped to the beat Stab the repeat bu*ton and keep running And that's somthing you can't get from tape dubbing Skip the skips with a flick of the wrist More time to check what's sick on the list The fickle dismissed this little digital disk But try and play vinyl in the whip, it'll skip And it's '96, I'm trying to get laid now Chose the format with binary laid down 1s and 0s, and 0s and 1s, flood the BOSE with flows and drums Blunts get blown in my homie's truck We sitting on chrome, little bone thugs We got wheels, we ain't trying to walk man CD's nuts, there's dust on my walkman [Verse 4: Mr. S.O.S] Follow me entering this digital odyssey Holy matrimony but harder to see Everywhere but non-existant, what a conundrum Upgraded but they say we forgot where we come from The past feels even further with every second Off the record, the coming and going of Kbps In the day of the instant message The message is misdirected and the receiver seems to be disconnected But don't complain, love game Even after the flood came and left our neighbors over-saturated With no computer love, just computer bugs Hate the virus and not the hacker, that's what a loser does Meanwhile, the kids are playing shoot em' ups Trying to be the 2.0 version of Super Thug Press reset, any era you wish to visit is next Hold on as we eject