My floor freshman year of college was a pretty dope house. A large percentage of us got along, we planned some all-dorm gatherings, and we weren’t afraid to participate in University-planned dorm events either. For the dorm talent show, a fellow “east coaster” and I decided to write a rap to perform. I went to school in Wisconsin where the mention of someone being from New York (myself) or New Jersey (my co-emcee) would immediately meet stereotyping. It didn’t matter that I was from a small town and the Garden Stater from near Philly. Well I was tired of this so I incorporated my feelings into my verses of the rap along with some inside jokes from our floor.
I’m the L to the I to the N to the D to the S-A-Y/And I’ll tell you what’s down. I’ll tell ya what’s fly/Don’t worry boys. I ain’t shy. I get by/cuz I hail from New York/Upstate that is/not to be confused with that fucking NYC biz.
“Where you from?”/New York I’d say/’ssuming I drank Evian every day/But you know me/you can see/it ain’t true/I wear blue/not black fuck-me pants/I don’t call daddy at the first sign of ants/I proved you wrong/and if not, then by the end of this song/Where my girlz at?/hell no, not in the back/Yeah right up front. Paige and Sar-ah/shakin their asses like they don’t car-ah/On the dance floor they’ll sex you up/Hey, where’s Johrick?/Now tell me “sup?”
My home’s/The BLC/Livin’ on Elsom, the third story/Our house/always representin’/everywhere we go/you don’t even know/you have no idea/hey there at Frank’s I’ll see ya/
Sarah/ this is just for you/I to jog in the smog down by the bogg
This. This is the BLC/This. This is the BLC/This. This is the BLC
© copyright Lindsay M. Hinkle 2000