[krs-one] * echoing* you dope? want this title? Then you better come up or step off!
[freddie Yo this out, all jokes aside get busy
Word! blastmaster in the house Hah, everybody for some wanna be a gangsta You know nuttin about bein no gangsta
[freddie Worrrrrrrd up! aiyyo check out This is freddie And guess next
Every wan fi chat, they wan fi chat, they wan fi chat posse wan fi chat, but ju knows dem is wack Every wan fi chat, they wan fi chat, they wan fi chat Every posse wan fi chat, but ju knows dem is Every posse wan fi chat, but ju knows dem is They pon the mic, an' wan fi do it like dat But ahh, now dis a krs, me nah dat When me open up to work, I put a cape on me Then me, fly all the emcee world Krs, the artical, is not to be [*changes patois*] with, ? with, or tampered with Don't give a if you wanna riff But when you say kris, already of kris My eyebrows lift and ass I get with (huh) As a matter of fact, I attack, Set back, career, like a quarterback That his back, my tongue is like a bat eye'll get black, you'll need an icepack (rrrrruff!) I'm all that, come your whole pack You'll be prayin to the God of So freddie foxxx, it's time to get tough Just, get on the mic and get ruff,
[freddie Soon as I flex, I'm about to rip up shop It's the return of the hip-hop master, freddie the (bo!) rappers see me, don't even speak, just walk Cause I'm the nigga in new york (hah!) I see a rapper in the crowd I don't like I wanna fight, so when I the mic jump off the stage, bumrush your crowd to whip (suckers) that wanna be How I heard it said a pimp'll sell his ass If his hoe won't, but foxxx don't Cover chest g, you better wear a bulletproof vest see Cause I'm about to leave this place a mess Open on the floor as I explore Rappers that wanted to be more number four Number a hard spot; either you fight Or get shot, so this is I got (bo!) Three tec-9's, my uzi, ten grenades, my razor And I aim to get paid! So who wanna step to this, don't soft Cause i'ma straight up niggaz off (pom! pom!) And when the come to get me I'ma take a dead body, and bop ten with me I'm and tired of hearin rappers talk smack About who's nice, and who's whack, that They my style, and my rep, every stage That I stepped on - I was the rapper they on But y'all rappers keep sleepin - cause when plant in your house, i'ma wake you up and punch you In your mouth, knock your wife out Take your to safety, cause they're just kids And I raise em to face me And when they get a bigga mark them little niggaz, and put their fingerprints On the trigger -- homicide, call the vice Another rapper and his with no life Yeah mr. tough and, you're full of stuff and And foxxx caught you bluffin I got you in my torture and you scream Oh God damn, like _silence of the lambs_ But I don't em and eat em I take mc's to the war zone, and I defeat em It gets much worse, with verse As the f-o-x-x-x, hurts! Punishes, stomps, smashes, crushes, You know my name! Aiyyo kris! I'm rhymin enough (say what? ) Get on the mic and get ruff,
This is the that I go all out (why? ) what I'm all about (and) I eat franks with the sauerkraut (cause) Because I don't eat pork from the to the snout (well it) get on down, to the hip hip hop Before I start, to scott larock! (word) Now let me drop the style that has Cause many don't believe they're rappin They're lost, crazy in their identity is not, what hip-hop is meant to be (word up) I unique, I can't be beat, hardcore street For the kids, a hundred-and-fifty on their feet (kick it) I don't compete, I and delete ya critique ya, all mc's retreat, here comes the t'cha Chewin like smuckers Hittin on, on, shittin on, flippin on motherfuckers Yeah, I'm like the _aliens_ I hide inside your right hand man, when you you got me Bam! my comes out your chest A mutilated of nastyness of bloody flesh, yes krs on the slaughter Specialize in rhyme style, you simply add water Evian, I pull the string Ring-ding-ding, in the days, I wrote +south bronx+ The juice crew got stomped, two shot Pom! pom! really it was magic's Always wanna diss somebody, he got put to a wack, when a sucker dj babbles on Soupin up mc's to battle on That's wrong, but in any event, I drop the In 1992 the it ain't plastic Everybody know, bdp, is fantastic, burn acid Credit card plastic, like elastic Love and is the tactic Bam! in your motherfuckin Krs in the I never listening to bitches and hoes anyway (fi-yah!)
[freddie Well you know I hoes, cause I'm a mack But I don't like the tracks, youknowhati'msayin? And for all suckers out there That underestimate the mack, get the bo-zack You know what I (word) word!
You why? Every posse wan fi chat, wan fi chat, they wan fi chat Every posse wan fi chat, but ya knows dey is Every wan fi chat, they wan fi chat, you know dem a wack posse wan fi chat, but ya knows dey is wack
[freddie Yes.. fresh.. for nineteen-ninety-two you * echoes *
Motherfuckers! brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! * to fade *