IRC-Galleria

A-1-2, A-1-2
But you don't stop
Then let the short shot

And Promoe on the mic(on the mic, on the mic)
For all my people(all my people, graffiti writers!)
Goes a little something like this:

It was the last days of summer
Sun shinin' through the window
Life movin' real slow
You know how things go

His friends knew him by the name of Bingo
As he turned up the volume on the hot new single
(Turn it up son!)

From Looptroop his favourite rapgroup
He loved how they represented him yo
The graffyouth from the grassroots
He came from Sweden too

Felt proud when he played
his new friends the latest tunes
Check this shit out man
That he had to download
Cause his local recordstore
Was on the other side of the globe

They didn't carry the stuff
But he felt it was okay to do
He spread the Troop's message
All the way to Australia, dude

And man that couldn't be wrong
When Long Arm and Freedom Fighters
Were his fuckin' theme songs

In the headphones those nights
He spent when he stayed up
Adrenaline Rush
When he entered the lay up, singin

Bada papa papa

You know graffiti won't die, die
No, it won't, aha
Because these walls don't lie, lie (They don't lie)
Come on
I'm dedicatin' this piece, aha
He said, to those DVSG's

And stepped in with a grin and a boosted Kangol
Mimicking the king
With the ruler's manners

Fresh dressed

In his newest shoes and flannels
Then began lettin' on
With the loosest cannons

Figurin' this'll be my coolest panel
But when they see it all they see
Is just a gruesome scandal

Erasin' all signs of life
Callin the youth some vandals
They can't handle the truth
So this is how the truth is handled

Deep into the music and his art
Man, his true love
Didn't even notice when the train pulled up

Before the bloodstains faded
On the engine cooler
The very same train
Hit another writer: Olaf

On a different continental: Europe
But then they came to the same place
That I'm sure of
In this world people always
Looked upon them as a terror
But now 50 000 chariots singin' the chorus, going

Bada papa papa
(aha, aha)

Graffiti writers won't die, die, no
(I'm telling you)
Because these walls don't lie, lie, no
(They don't lie)
Come on
I'm dedicatin' this song, song
To those gone
Your memory live on(live on)

I know a lot of people
Including myself get uncomfortable
When people including myself
Get emotional

kertosäe:
But I gotta be true to myself
And to most of y'all
Man I still got love
For graffiti culture though

A lot of people including myself
Get uncomfortable
When people including myself
Get emotional

kertosäe

A lot changed from
The days of Spraycan stories
See me in the yard today
Lost like a freakin' tourist

And I don't claim to know much
All I really know is
We were 17 once
Actin' like we were immortals

Fearin' no evil
People said we had no morals
That's fine, their corrupt world
It really wasn't for us

We just laughed at the bullshit names
That they called us
Hated us, we hated them
And both sides found out what a war is

We were winning in the beginning
Then found out 'bout the horrors
Don't get me wrong my lover
Hundred percent, no less

Peace to my people
We grow with the knowledge
I bite on death same time
I'm playin' hardish to catch

From South Africa
Writers from New York
Australia, Spain, France
And Germany, up north

Still the same rapper tellin'
Cops to fuck off
And all my writers:
Survive! This my love song to y'all

Bada papa papa

You know graffiti won't die, die, no
Because these walls don't lie, lie, no
To all my people world wide, wide, yo'
All my writers survive