The Sound of The Beat
Lyrics and Vocals by Emcee Lynx
Instrumental by Bexarametric

Drum lines, fun rhymes and blazin sunshine
Big bad body rockin, boombox on buslines
I've got nothin' to do, and nowhere to go
So I kick it cali style and polish the flow
Bored as fuck growin up in a suburban wasteland
No future, no hope, and you might not understand
But the white picket fences in your stereotype
Don’t really have shit to do with my life
cuz it was second hand stores, worn-out clothes
Picked on on the playground and nobody knows
I was scared to go home, had nowhere to hide
I was nine years old contemplating suicide
But hope came in on the radio waves
Hip hop saved my life, I dedicated my days
To memorizing flows, Tupac, masta ace
Rappin Forte, Snoop Dogg up in the place
Bone Thugs at the crossroads, got me started thinkin
seein kids I came up with getting high and drinkin
losin time, when time was our only real hope
so I keep my mind clear, I don’t drink and don’t smoke

the sound of the beat gave me hope when I had nothin’
so I’ve got no patience for fools straight frontin’
if you got something to say then you damn well better say it
or get the fuck off the mic, and that’s the way that I play it

bass lines, gang signs, and drum kick loops
nortenos, surenos, and guys in suits
I remember 9th grade my classmates best friend
g ot caught in the game, had his head smashed in
b y kids from the next hood with baseball bats
t he Cops covered it up, they got away with that
c uz property values would fall if folks’d known
h e was killed down the street, two blocks from my home
n ow I’m a grown fuckin man lookin’ back, memories
m ainstream Rap music has switched it’s loyalties
beats change as years pass, no more street reporters
cuz the "Ghetto CNN" is now all about the dollars
and I can’t be surprised by radio blacklists
so I go underground to let ya’ll know I exist
I’m not a thug or a gangster, I never sold rocks
I’m just poor white trash in the school of hard knocks
Sick and tired of getting blamed for shit I never did
But I’m down for revolution for the sake of all the kids
Growing up broke as fuck, no future, no hope
I'm down to lynch the president, and my words are the rope

The sound of the beat…

grey sky stretching past glass
dark clutter of suburbia crawls by
barren fields stretching forlorn
towards hills crawling with sapient pollution
smoke swirling off factory stacks
like giant cigarettes
we're all inhaling their second hand suicide
tall buildings posturing against horizon trying to make me believe
in their sophistication incarnate
I will not be bought!
busses pushed along slowly
by dragons chained to the wheels
spewing their toxic love into the sky
blends into a cloud of low-hanging ozone
clinging to the earth like a cast-off lover
refusing to leave
smothering sounds into smooth soft
like a child's dream of those creatures that bump in the night
hours passing slowly by
as Thor thunders overhead like a pagan St. Nick
bringing rewards to the righteous
and switches to the others
weapons of retribution against children
by the parents for the sins of their fathers
willow stretches forlorn across time
as children shy back in fear
of the weapon she never meant to become
welcome to suburbia

The sound of the beat…