::Grassroot:Backpackers::
Homage to classic early ninties Hip Hop with today's style and intellect
Unadulterated underground, non-vulgar, classic NYC Intelligent Rhymes with an infusion of Dancehall
Cyrus Eye is a two member band consisting of a DJ and a lyricist. Our roots stem deep into Hip Hop, Jazz, Neo Soul and Reggae. We stay free of vulgarity.
Story behind the song
The premise behind this is just a shout out to all the Backpackers out there caravaning with pen, pad or laptop in hand, always keepin' an ear "to the ground", so to speak, so as to capture the true essence of hip hop.
Lyrics
(Chorus)
All my real grassroots backpackers unite
tell me wher you is at, up in the cypher tonight
see all my real grassroots backpackers unite
tell me where you is at, up in the spot
it's the return of the incredible, slash, intellectual
impecible breackbeat slaya'
Mc's be quick to turn tails and run scared
'cause I'm ready for the battle but the be ill prepared
I observed them, huddled in the distance, deep in prayer
'cause I stepped out the box right into their nightmares
while there, I left 'em twisted like a double helix
and leave their minds fractured in multiple pieces
my thesis remains tight or taut
I'm incognito like on the mic, non-chelont
I flaunt articulate, slash, intricate
scentences and words that be seldom heard
so my lips crack and bleed from this verse I spit
be quick hit the corner store, get me some chap stick
I'm madd sick, leavin' mics burnt like match sticks
walk a mile in my shoes, then make sure they fit
it's quite perplexin' this light complected
african be quick to take a sucker MC out again
why you frownin' man, I thought you was a hooligan
who you foolin' man, I'm 'bout to take you to school again
(Chorus)
All my real grassroots backpackers unite
tell me wher you is at, up in the cypher tonight
see all my real grassroots backpackers unite
tell me where you is at, up in the spot
I leave Mc's trapped between the lines
of my dope rhymes like they incarcerated for lifetime
throw them a lifeline, they drwinin' in my mic time
I make em sit back down everytime they think they might rhyme
so they hang on every line of mine
like they was damp close dryin' in the summer time
sometimes I wonder why this game has gone askew
it's not quite what it was or what we're used to
so I choose to
bruise crews who
try to abuse this ill dude
my styles' so sick I'm like home with the flu
so MC's send me get well cards and poems too
now what am I to do, I think they forgot
so I send a rhyme back through the mail and blow up their spot
they thinkin' they hot
actually I'm thinkin' they not
they reside on the bottom, my plataeu's on top
unlike a red octaganal signnever will I stop
re-introducin' the vintage hip-hop
the names Q.Digga if you need to ask
I leave this mic so hot faces melt like candle wax
(Chorus)
All my real grassroots backpackers unite
tell me wher you is at, up in the cypher tonight
see all my real grassroots backpackers unite
tell me where you is at, up in the spot
