Intro - People Under The Stairs

Are you on dope?

Yes.

What kind?

Musical dope.

You get high?

Yes.

Of what?

Music.

Are you on a trip or something?

Yes.

What kind of a trip?

Music.

The People Under The Stairs are back with the win

All city called in, touring like a Griswold

Made it back safe, made the track laced tasty

Scoped out your album and the time that you waste, G

I’m hasty, your keyboard tracks, they don’t phase me

Digging through the crates for some gems that amaze me

A musical represent, my LA environment

Porch sitting, beat making, writing rhymes, getting bent

Took the time to combine, me and big Mike rhyme

Make our own beats, fill the streets with the lifeline

Lifelong, through the strife times, I’mma write songs

Three albums deep and couldn’t stop if I had a

Calmness with this, my life drama, end quote

I used to be a fan, but with time, I lost hope

So I took the problem in my own hands

Now I’m looking through the scope

With the musical dope, to please fans

It goes on-once again, original styles, taking the top of the pile

Known for moving, controlling your crowd

Double K to skeeze, please, and still loving the beats

Still claiming the streets, still trying to eat

Still high off my feet, do my digging discreet

The Boss Angeles champ, worldwide like a stamp

Can’t nobody tell me nothing, I was born raising hell

Bumped the funk straight from heaven, Michael ‘77

And niggas still can’t believe that we came right back

Took a commercial break, we here to bring your fate

On black vinyl, it’s final, like the week before vacation

Beating niggas at their own game, state their occupation

So go home and tell your parents you won’t need that equipment

You need to cop assistance, your buddy was a witness

The P-U-thrash-suckers like a mosh pit gang

For always and always, the things will never be the same

Only sometimes, overly stand trying

Okay, start that over, send track on similar transplant

over sound that operate similar towns

up state to other state on sampling templates

only sometimes over stand prime

Okay, start that over, send track on similar transplant

over sound to operate similar towns

up state so other state, sample in templates

Turn this in, perfection unit, track schooling

Call us «max cool» and we be hip hop ruling

Original stash taking, non-faking, not to be mistaken as anything nice

(Yo, we like cancer to your life!)

That’s so precious and young, but we wicked and old

Tore up plenty of shows, let the story be told

Yo we scolding-ing down niggas since the last time out

Stepping up inside the booth, lashing out with the truth

Prophets of another kind, keep it real on the mind

With the hustle to the grind, this music of mine

Niggas who try to call out, no doubt get hauled out

Bawled out, wrong route, bet I hope you get stalled out

The P be the bully of this so-called rap game

More like a crap game, with no money to claim

Ask who took it, yo, I got it and ain’t giving it back

You’re living with that, so Thes One deliver ‘em that… what?!

It’s like a new-born baby, unseen sound, so hold it

I worked too damn hard for you to fucking download it

We been in the lab, all summer, hundred degrees

Making beats, laying in eight-tracks, you know the steez

Like scrounging up the pennies for the ice cream truck

Get a couple extra bucks and go off looking for funk

So basically there’s nothing changed since the last time we talked

Couple more crates, more house parties, hanging on the block

Food spots and jokes, the 40 ounce and smokes

We got a little more fame, basically the same blokes

So all the real P fans, this goes out to you

In whatever city you at, whoever your crew

So all the real P fans, this goes out to you

In whatever city you at, whoever your crew

So all the real P fans, gather ‘round and take note

Presenting O.S.T., the musical dope