[krs-one] * echoing* Think you dope? want this you better come step up or step off!
[freddie Yo check out, all jokes aside get busy
Word! blastmaster krs-one in the Hah, everybody for some wanna be a gangsta You don't know nuttin about no gangsta
[freddie Worrrrrrrd up! aiyyo check out is freddie f-o-x-x-x And guess what's
Every wan fi chat, they wan fi chat, they wan fi chat Every posse wan fi chat, but ju dem is wack Every posse wan fi chat, they wan fi chat, wan fi chat posse wan fi chat, but ju knows dem is wack Every posse wan fi chat, but ju dem is wack They jump pon the mic, an' wan fi do it 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*] Fucked with, ? with, or tampered Don't a fuck if you wanna riff But when you say kris, already of kris My lift and that ass I get with (huh) As a matter of fact, I attack, Set back, your career, a quarterback broke his back, my tongue is like a bat Your eye'll get black, you'll need an (rrrrruff!) I'm all that, come with your whole be prayin to the God of isaac So freddie foxxx, it's to get tough [uh-huh] Just, get on the mic and get ruff,
foxxx] Soon as I flex, cause I'm about to rip up It's the return of the hip-hop master, freddie the (bo!) that see me, don't even speak, just walk I'm the maddest nigga in new york (hah!) I see a rapper in the crowd that I don't I wanna fight, so I drop the mic I'ma off the stage, bumrush your crowd to whip (suckers) wanna be pimps How I heard it said a pimp'll sell his ass If his hoe won't, but foxxx don't Cover your chest g, you better wear a bulletproof see Cause I'm about to this place a motherfuckin mess hearts on the floor as I explore Rappers wanted to be more than number four Number one's a hard 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 i'ma straight up knock niggaz off (pom! pom!) And the cops come to get me I'ma take a dead body, and bop ten cops me I'm and tired of hearin rappers talk smack About who's nice, and who's whack, motherfuck They my style, and my rep, every stage That I on - I was the rapper they slept on But y'all rappers keep sleepin - when they plant Bombs in your house, i'ma wake you up and you In motherfuckin mouth, knock your wife out Take your sons to safety, cause they're just And I raise em to face me And when get a little bigga I'ma mark them little niggaz, and put their On the trigger -- double homicide, the vice rapper and his family with no life Yeah you're mr. tough and, full of stuff and And freddie foxxx you bluffin I got you in my torture and you scream Oh God damn, it's like of the lambs_ But I mangle em and eat em I mc's to the war zone, and there I defeat em It gets much worse, every verse As the f-o-x-x-x, hurts! Punishes, stomps, smashes, crushes, You suckers my name! Aiyyo kris! I'm rhymin long enough (say ) Get on the mic and get ruff,
This is the year I go all out (why? ) what I'm all about (and) I don't eat franks with the (cause) Because I don't eat pork the tail to the snout (well it) get on down, to the hip hip hop I start, peace to scott larock! (word) Now let me drop the that has action Cause mc's don't believe they're rappin They're lost, crazy in their identity This is not, what hip-hop is to be (word up) I come unique, I can't be beat, street For the kids, with a on their feet (kick it) I compete, I defeat and delete ya Then ya, all mc's retreat, here comes the t'cha suckers like smuckers Hittin on, on, shittin on, flippin on motherfuckers Yeah, I'm the movie _aliens_ I hide inside your right man, when you think you got me Bam! my head out your chest A mess of nastyness of bloody flesh, yes krs on the slaughter Specialize in instant rhyme style, you add water Evian, I the string then Ring-ding-ding, in the days, I wrote +south bronx+ The juice crew got stomped, lick two Pom! pom! it was magic's fault Always wanna somebody, he got put to a halt It's wack, when a dj babbles on Soupin up mc's to on song That's wrong, but in any event, I the classic In 1992 the it ain't plastic Everybody know, bdp, is fantastic, burn acid Credit plastic, stretch like elastic Love and respect is the Bam! in your face Krs in the I never liked listening to and hoes anyway (fi-yah!)
foxxx] Well you I like hoes, cause I'm a mack But I don't like the wack tracks, And for all your out there That underestimate the militant mack, get the You what I mean? (word) word!
You why? Every posse wan fi chat, they wan fi chat, they wan fi Every wan fi chat, but ya knows dey is wack Every posse wan fi chat, they wan fi chat, you dem a wack Every wan fi chat, but ya knows dey is wack
foxxx] Yes.. fresh.. for nineteen-ninety-two you * echoes *
Motherfuckers! brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! * to fade *