CHORUS:
It ain't hard to tell (Nas sample), how we excel,
then propel, through sampling joints,
that's reflecting ourselves,
cause we dig in the crates til we stand in the past,
and start bringing it forward when we sampling tracks,
It ain't hard to tell (Nas sample), how we excel,
then propel, through sampling joints,
that's reflecting ourselves,
cause we dig in the crates til we stand in the past,
and start bringing it forward when we sampling tracks

VERSE 1:
Ground-breaking we staying when we making this art,
cause we sampling joints that's making us start,
examining music from a different approach,
cause we came from an artform that's giving us hope,
by looping a section and spitting a poem,
til' they hit you with lawsuits for using those records,
but we getting those dope vinyls we crave,
and flipping a sample trying to find that we make,
new school jazz in this art we like,
flipping Davis Classics, to a Hard Days Night,
set examples in samples from all'a the stars,
you calling it stealing, well I'm calling it art,
Use a stubblefield break, to enter that bubble,
where I'm making those poems that's reflecting my struggles,
if that bubble pops, I hope that it splatters,
onto music facists saying samples don't matter, cause

CHORUS:
It ain't hard to tell (Nas sample), how we excel,
then propel, through sampling joints,
that's reflecting ourselves,
cause we dig in the crates til we stand in the past,
and start bringing it forward when we sampling tracks,
It ain't hard to tell (Nas sample), how we excel,
then propel, through sampling joints,
that's reflecting ourselves,
cause we dig in the crates til we stand in the past,
and start bringing it forward when we sampling tracks

VERSE 2:
This samples revealing that's we crafting these joints,
by sampling feelings til' we crafting this noise,
over breaks and beats, from those tapes we bleed,
like Marvin Gaye, Ashby, to the great MCs
but not wounded this music it's captured our breaths,
exhale paul c cuts to the jazziest jeff,
cause I mastered this music with all of my heart,
until It skips on a beat if you're not calling it art,
cause these sampling joints an example of noise,
that some deeming as trash, not understanding the point,
a whole culture oppressed, so they branding their voice,
usin' rock, jazz, blues tapes, to stand in that void,
of musician ship, now they're sailing away,
into an industry where billions play with their fate,
but they profit off techniques that offered them life,
then take it away by stealing all'a their rights,