Stay Home

Written by: Michael Turner & Christopher Portugal

[Sung sample:] …Really wish I'd stayed home and gotten high
Instead of coming into the street and having this awful fight…

[Thes One:]
Yo, in the darkness under the stairs, shadow casting a silhouette
Pair of MCs, scribbling elegies by candle at night
Our dead writers losing lives, your rhyme fights, trying to bite
Losing the limelight to the P, who's undercover in some L.A. hats
Forty days in the studio, struck water from ADATs
On top a mountain made of milk crates, throwing the tablet down
On top of breaks, then dub it to black tapes for the chosen
People who still living the folklore of DJ Cool Herc
Bam and Grand Wizard Theodore
Before any punk with a keyboard could do it
Yo, Apache was the shit, and every B-Boy knew it
And so we do it 'cause we follow original rules
When only microphones and old records were tools
Flash-forward, twenty years later, they calling us "haters"
Yo, popular rappers call it "progress," they ain't no greater
Than late Seventies disco, Puffy is sounding simple
Yo, it's number one rap? I'd rather hear an 808 handclap than that
Miscontrolled use of culture that I love and grew up in
So many of the wrong motherfuckers blew up in the late Nineties
Here it is, either love your artform, or be a star in showbiz
And get paid or get money, me and Double K'll sit back with a sack, yo
And just monkey with funky breaks that pressing on black plates
Paying homage to crates to spread across US states
Making show dates, digging in crates, paying dues
We're a local, national, international crew

[Double K:]
Never thought when I was coming up, that I would be the average
Skateboarding, football playing, I was into staying in the house
Dropping needles on albums I didn't know about, A.M. stereo
Frequently, I never cared about wrestling and ice cream trucks
Just wanted to ride with my cousin, EJ, because his car had bumps
My brother Sweater picked me up, bumped loud down Crenshaw
To his pad in Gardena, where he let a nigga get off
Gave me doubles of Funky Drummer, took the rest of the crates
Locked me up inside his room, fourteen years later, I'm straight
And y'all should blame it on that man, for the havok I wreak
Taught me to speak through techniques and never critique
A DJ with no rhythm, just pull the plug and be out
Get some records from that fool, that's what I'm talking about
And know niggas like that, to me, get 'nuff respect
Cash checks, carry techs, believe in SP12's
Raise hell about their vinyl if it's not in its place
Can rock a house with two crates and always showing up late
And, yo, to y'all. I say "thanks," and I'm a keep it riding to never
And Double's in this…

[Sung sample:] Forever
[Double K:] And Thes One's in this…
[Sung sample:] Forever
[Double K:] And Double K's in this…
[Sung sample:] Forever
[Double K:] And Thes One's in this…
[Sung sample:] Forever
[Double K:] Yo… and, yo, the P's in this…
[Sung sample:] Forever
[Double K:] And Double K's in this…
[Sung sample:] Forever
[Double K:] And Thes One's in this….
[Sung sample:] Forever
[Double K:] Yo, and L.A.'s in this…
[Sung sample:] Forever
[Double K:] What?
[Sung sample:] Forever
[Double K:] Yeah…
[Sung sample:] Forever

*Important Note: These transcriptions are not verified with P.U.T.S., so there may be errors. We are especially unsure of the greyed-out text. We encourage you to offer your suggestions for lyrics corrections on the site's main page.


This track appears on the following releases:

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The Next Step Question in the Form of an Answer American Men, Vol. 1
"O.S.T." ...Or Stay Tuned Stepfather
The Om Years Fun DMC Carried Away
Highlighter 12 Step Program American Men, Vol. 2
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