Beat: A dusty, booming 90s boom-bap drum loop enters, accompanied by a soulful, looping horn and a vinyl crackle. A DJ scratches a classic vocal sample: "Fresh... fresh... for '86, you sucker MCs...") (Intro) Yeah. Turn my headphones up a little bit. Static on the track, MPC punching through the MPC 60. This isn't for the charts. This is for the architects. The ones who laid the concrete before we built the sky. From the parks in the Bronx to the global stadiums. Ten minutes of uninterrupted lineage. Pay attention to the masterclass. Let's go. (Verse 1: The Foundation & The Architects of Style) I step into the circle where the cypher first ignited 1520 Sedgwick where the block was invited Shout out Kool Herc, Grandmaster Flash on the wheels Melle Mel spitting truth, showing how the ghetto feels Before the contracts, the lawyers, and the million-dollar checks It was a microphone, a sound system, earning your respect Then came the Prophet, KRS, the Teacher from the Bronx Criminal Minded, dropping knowledge over heavy thumps He taught us hip hop is a culture, rap is just a verb Spitting poetry and power, redefining every word And from the shadows of Long Island stepped the R, the sovereign king Rakim Allah, the microphonist, making meters swing He stopped the yelling, brought the jazz flow, quiet and precise "Thinking of a Master Plan," rolling loaded dice No mistake, he changed the cadence, made the bars complex While Big Daddy Kane was bringing luxury and flex Fast tongue, sharp suit, smooth operator on the floor The pinnacle of showmanship, leaving crowds wanting more Can’t forget the Ruler, Slick Rick with the eye patch The greatest storyteller that the genre couldn't match "La Di Da Di," Mona Lisa, pictures painted with the slang The foundation of the rhythm that the whole world sang. (Hook) We screaming: Long live the kings, long live the queens The voices of the struggle, living out the ghetto dreams From the vinyl to the digital, the spirit never dies Look at what you built when you look into our eyes This is homage to the greats, the ultimate salute The branches of the tree growing deep from the root. (Verse 2: The New York Kings & The Golden Era) The clock strikes '94, the smoke clears in the city The bridge is over, but a new king's talking gritty Nasty Nas, the street disciple from the Queensbridge houses Illmatic in the tape deck, waking up the spouses A teenage poet with the wisdom of an old soul Representing memory, taking back control "Whose world is this?" It’s yours, it’s mine, it’s written in the stars The definition of a lyricist, a lifetime in the bars While over in Brooklyn, Bed-Stuy was pacing the floor Christopher Wallace, the Biggie Smalls, opening the door Ready to Die, Life After Death, the cinematic flow Cozy in the Coogi sweater, putting on a show The effortless breath control, the humor and the pain "It was all a dream," now he's reigning in the rain And right beside him, Shawn Carter, the blueprint of the hustle Reasonable Doubt, turning street smarts to corporate muscle Jay-Z, the marathon runner, standard of success A decade of number ones, playing three-dimensional chess He took the street corner, turned it to a corner office Never losing the edge, no matter what the cost is The holy trinity of Gotham, standing in the light Guiding every single artist trying to write the script right. (Hook) We screaming: Long live the kings, long live the queens The voices of the struggle, living out the ghetto dreams From the vinyl to the digital, the spirit never dies Look at what you built when you look into our eyes This is homage to the greats, the ultimate salute The branches of the tree growing deep from the root. (Verse 3: The Revolutionaries & The West Coast Pioneers) But the map expanded outward, past the East Coast borders A storm was brewing in the West, defying social orders Ice Cube, the lethal weapon, penning reality rap Straight Outta Compton, putting aggression on the map He spoke the truth to power, never watered down the message An American Nightmare navigating through the passage And then the Doctor dropped the Chronic, G-Funk in the air Snoop Dogg rolling down the street, laid back without a care The most charismatic flow to ever hit the microphone A long-beach killer-dog, sitting on the throne But nobody captured the fire, the passion, and the plight Like Tupac Amaru Shakur, shining in the night Me Against the World, All Eyez on Me, a walking contradiction A revolutionary poet living through the street friction He gave a voice to the hopeless, the mothers on welfare Thug Passion in his veins, letting the world know he cared He died a martyr for the cause, a rebel with a pen We’ll never see a human being match that drive again Down south in the dungeon, the dirty city was rising OutKast came along, completely modernizing André 3000, the alien, the futuristic traveler Unraveling the syntax like a master-class unraveler "The South got something to say," he told the source a
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