Ay yo, stick me in your tape deck I’m a cassette
You could record demos on me, crackheads try to bong me Jakes even use me to record statements
Play me back, get caught and catch life in the basement
No doubt I could be used for many a purpose
Never place me on a magnetic surface
I might catch amnesia and forget what I know
I recall being played in a fucked up Pinto
The deck got hot, ate me up till I popped
The owner pressed stop, then ejected
Tossed out the window neglected, by the curb I lay
Shorty, walking to school, picked me up the next day
He put me in a Sony Walkman and pressed play
I snagged up again, he took me out, passed me to his friend
His friend fixed me, taped me up, now I’m crispy
Back together, better than ever
Now I’m limping in the inside pocket of his leather
His moms didn’t want him having me, said I promoted profanity
Gave a copy to his friend, my dub is my twin
My content gets under their skin, since
Since back in the days of NWA, parents been throwing me away
Never put me in your box if your shit eats tapes
I let my tape rock till my tape popped
Ay yo, my father was an 8-track, my son is a DAT
You could record demos on me, I told you before
Cop me at the bootlegger in front of the liquor store
Cause of me bootleggers, rappers was slappin' 'em
Sell a million of me and go platinum
Ask Funk Flex and Big Kap and 'em
Ay yo, DJs bought the vinyl out of the crate
Sit it on the turntable, then watch it rotate
33 RPM, revolutions per minute
A flex of the wrist, now the scratch is invented
Pulls the crossfader now the blend is authentic
He shouts out the crowd, they respond like guns
Gracefully take a bow, competition is won
Never put me in your box if your shit eats tapes
I let my tape rock till my tape popped