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