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Back in the early eighties
Kids were snatchin’ emblems off any parked Mercedes
Apparatus for status
Fashion lattice fantastic
Before gold chains
One’s main claim to fame
Was sportin’ an automotive medallion
In the streets, our peeps was willin’
The guilt made me so nauseous, I’d vomit thousand island
As my hand clasped the cold chrome emblem, I froze
Not because of the December cold
Rather the owner of the yellow Benz
Was a paper route customer and family friend
I walked away without a medallion but at least my conscience was clean
Way back in my adolescence, before I became a teen
The peer pressure would fester, while reading Word Up magazine
Trying to be cool like LL or Rakim, a Microphone fiend
Wondered if I’d ever become fresher
Grabbed a brush from the top of my dresser
And tried in vain to get some waves With cherry Afro sheen and gobs of Murray’s pomade
Slept with a Durag for weeks at a time
Never got any waves tho’, but my forehead had a huge line!
Got clowned at school, still remember the ‘Joans’ that they said
‘He ain’t got no waves man, but look at that creasy, greasy forehead!’
