"It's McDaniels, not McDonalds, these rhymes are Daryl's, the bur-burgers are Ronalds." Run DMC

I used to roam the rough streets of Richmond, b-boy style, with my mate DandyDan. We had a couple of scary moments. One time on a tram, bully skin heads ripped a pair of RayBan Wayfarers off my head and threw them out the window. Dandy refused to give up our Fender guitar.

One day at Camberwell station, the bully boys wanted to roll us. Dandy stood up to them again and made them check themselves before they wrecked themselves. He grabbed the bully by the throat and charged him towards an oncoming train. We never got bullied again.

We still own a vinyl record collection. We split the cost of imports at Central Station in the back of city square. Anyone remember the grafitti wall before the whole town got painted? Peace to my writer brothers.

One day at the Bridge/Church corner ATM, I fell victim to a drive by. FACT. An enthusiastic Valiant full of lads fired a high powered pellet into my varsity jacket. I dropped like the proverbial sack and looked up at DandyDan. Did you hit me with a baseball bat?

It said a lot about the social soup at the time. There were Aussies, Wogs, Skin Heads, Writers, Mods, Punks, Bogons, Yuppies and kids. We used to sneak into HipHop clubs and battle with Razzle when pressed for ID.

The HospoScene, as we know it, was in it's fresher stage. Fast food dudes, were the 'Kings from Queens'. There were a few homies trying to mix it up, but for the most part we were bopping to the same beat.

Guess what b-boys? We now are competing with fast food and multinationals. They will survive and we are gonna have to fight for our right to party. The new world order is quality without cost. It's rapping over rhetoric. It's mixing over cross fading.

I'm gonna to mix up a dope rhyme and cut a new track. I’ve got a beat to settle.

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