What's Golden (Theme Song)

What's Golden is a theme song used by Ben Satterly.

Theme Lyrics
(Zaakir) Check it out now... I work the pen to make the ink transform On any particular surface the pen lands on Zaakir is hands on, what's the beef? The Cooley High cold chief high post techniques I drape off poetic landscapes and shapes Illustrate the paper space off the pens that paint Then design what have a National Geographic a magic With tailor-made status and plus favored is automatic

(Chorus) We're not balling We take it back to the days of yes y'all-in' We holding onto what's golden (PE Sample) *On a stage I rage and I'm rollin'*

We're not balling, or shot calling We take it back to the days of yes y'all-in' We holding onto what's golden (PE Sample) *On a stage I rage and I'm rollin'*

(Marc 7even) Melancholy mundane so I tame the hot flame Big rings, fat chains, and y'all quest for the same No name, use fame, strictly new to the thang We stay true to the game and never bring it to shame We tight like dreadlocks or Redd Foxx and ripple We pass participles, and smash the artist in you The saga continues, this I won't get into 'Cause there ain't enough bars to hold the drama that we been through

(Akil) Yo... We still the same with a little fame A little change in the household name but ain't too much changed We in the game but, yo not to be vain I refrain from salt grains to season up my name We entertain for a mutual game from close range Steady aim, drum at your head to hit the brain I'm labor ready, Rhodes Scholar for the dollar Work for mines pay me by the hour

(Chorus)

Hip...Hop (times that by four in differnt intervals)Music, the hop music

(Charli 2na) Yo... Well, it's the verbal Herman Munster The word enhancer, sick of phony mobsters controllin' the dance floor I been in dark places, catch you when you stark naked Your heart races as we pump you for your chart spaces The tart taste is me bringing these hot styles through Some of you bum a few cheers from shock value Word power can plow through acres of cornfields Paragraphs cut like warm steel, perform ill...

(Chorus)