Good Old Clyde
MC Frontalot stole a beat today. (Help! Thief!)
You can take another look, or you can look the other way,
but to ignore this crime is a crime in itself.
I'm unarmed, but a shelf of J.B. LPs is a wealth
to any rapper worth a salt-lick.
Me: what you get once you dry out the Baltic.
[Who? What?] Didn't you hear
'bout the beat that you already got all up in your ear?
[Who's there?] My man, Clyde Stubblefield.
[What's that?] The sound of the funky drummer.
MC Frontalot will take a well known beat and loop it.
Front like I wrote it, as if you were stupid.
You look at me crooked, but I'll be hard to blame
when I claim that I ain't even ever heard the same.
The same beat: the same drama.
[I recall] Chuck D getting irritated at Madonna.
While we're already in trouble, we'll
wring another single outta old Clyde Stubblefield.
Radio: suckas never seem to play me,
I think, because I used to be a man other than me.
[How could that be?] When the lyrics are furious
you hurry just to find the beat. I meet curious
MCs: "Yo, where'd you get the drum from?"
I pummel 'em on the advice of L.L.'s mum.
[Let me ride] Throw the beat in the trunk, let the rubber peel.
Stretch tracks on the grave of Clyde Stubblefield.