In school they never taught 'bout hamburgers or steak Elijah Muhammed or the welfare state But I know And I know because of KRS-One Yeah and I know And I know because of KRS-One Because he's droppin droppin droppin science droppin history With a whole heap of style and intelligency Yes, I know And I know because of KRS-One Yeah, and I know I know because of KRS-One Because we don't want to pay money fee to hear the same old sounds Watch him he'll take hip-hop to a higher ground And I know how do I know And I know because of KRS-One Yeah, and I know And I know because of KRS-One And I know And I know because of KRS-One And I know And I know

Tellin' it like it is, right about now D.J. Premier is in the Motherfuckin' house and shit, ya know what I'm sayin'? But yo, Yo Kris, run that shit, ya know what I'm sayin'? That, that shit, My joint. Run that motherfucker... it's only right kid... (Do it, do it, do it...) Drop that bassline... You want lyrics? We give ya lyrics. Check it out now, one time... (Do it, do it, do it...) When we come in all de dance 'nuff D.J.'s shut up, woy! Gal! Will ya come slap dem up When we come in all de dance 'nuff D.J.'s shut up, woy! Ill Will, slap dem up MC's get ate, get broken like a pretzel And get dissed if they ever try to step to They can't take a MC with loose lips Talk a lotta shit Lyrics make bigger holes than hollow tips Watch another rapper body get stiff Just like in church, we pass the basket As I preach over his casket Fuck it, kick the body right over And say "See ya, hmm... nice to know ya" Got another rapper to see Yo Kris, bust that ass If you're shiverin' get off the pot Let the original rapper rock the spot You stand there and jock, goin' This is absolutely ludicrous, what can you do to Kris Chattin' foolishness, step along quick with that stupidness It's me rippin' this for self, where else ya lookin'? I got more rhymes than all the Jamaicans in Brooklyn So beat it or be seated, Gee I'm mad undefeated Young boy, you can't see me, run along and make pee-pee I was rockin' rhymes when "La-Di-Da-Di" was a demo Admit you been on my tip for years and just can't seem to let go Go, go call your mother, tell her you wanna battle KRS quick I bet the minute you get home you'll get your ass whipped Crazy ill mad styles is what I give'em Not a run-of-the-mill'em, I drill'em, I got ridiculous rhythm None of my styles you can get with'em Still um, will um, your crew come get some so I can kill'em Well I roll by myself but don't let it fool ya If I got beef my crew'll damn step to ya We don't play no games, I'll come straight to your rest Lift up your shirt and blast you in your chest A fad doesn't fill the bill, but mad skills will Don't let me have to kill you kid, god forbid still Greed will lead your need to succeed But your speed, your speech Your outreach is a breach of what I teach For lyrical styles you're a leech If I was Spanish I'd say, ["You lie like a beech"] Wow-wow-wow-wow, wow-wow-wow, wow-wow-wow... Wow, for a amateur you really looked hard But you're really a bitch, when you get it together Call me, here's my card Check the list: you lack breath control, mental behaviour Lyrical talent, imagination and flavour I got no time for amateur rhyme, you could be hurt Thinkin' you're hard because you wear a gangsta T-Shirt I'll smash your wanna-be ass in the deep dirt Black, you'll come up dizzy sayin' "How da fuck he do dat?" 'Cause you're yappin' like you can't be reached If your name ain't Arrested Development, well save your speech Time to ill, I got mad skills to fill Not a fake, I got more styles than Drake's got Tasty Cakes Gotta be the best Gee, don't try to test me You'll get jacked son, even if your name is not Jesse Let's be up front when I meet ya Peace, uh, I'm the motherfuckin' teacher When we come in all de dance 'nuff D.J.'s shut up, woy! Gal! Will ya come slap dem up When we come in all de dance 'nuff D.J.'s shut up, woy! Gal! Will ya come slap dem up, up, up, up, up... (Do it, do it, do it...) x2 Yo... South Bronx, South South Bronx South Bronx, South South... yo, Uptown Brooklyn's in the house, lemme tell ya 'bout Staten Island What about... Queens?

Lord finesse and blastmaster krs-one Lyrical styles weigh a ton Lord finesse, we know you got skills Come into the cypher and build Chill out, all mc I kill Come down 1: lord finesse) Check it out, come on, here's your chance to swing With some ill muthaf**kas, we don't dance and sing In '95 we out-jinglin Servin 'poetic justice' without that nigga john singleton I do my thing while the fans be jealin Hey yo, I'm so dope, you better tap your man and tell him I don't fake moves, I scrape crews, I make brothers break fool Just give me a beat with a bass groove I'm mad funky, ask the experts Cause I make you bob your head until your muthaf**kin neck hurt So don't ask me to match, gee Cause if you ain't real, I'm bringin it to your face like acne Now rappers run scams and flim-flams On how they be gettin loose when they rusty like a tin man They rap fast, tryin to stack cash But on the reel to reel, yo, they still soundin half-assed Yellin and screamin like they got somethin When they don't got nothin, so them niggas need to stop frontin Talkin how they be raggin shit When I don't know if them niggas are rappin or talkin muthaf**kin arabic They act so ill, they no frills They should go chill, they all mouth with no skills When I'm around y'all feel funny Cause I'm young makin funds like shaquille o'neal, money You want any drama? you better wear plenty armor I cut that ass like the chef at benny harner's The funky man's in it to win it We gotta keep it real yo, no muthaf**kin gimmicks Whoever make a hit they the best (that's a gimmick) You sell records based on how you dress (that's a gimmick) Hey yo, that tongue-twistin shit, that's kinda fresh (that's a gimmick) What's when you're soft but you're frontin like you're stressed? (that's a gimmick) What's when you're only into rap to get paid? (that's a gimmick) What's when you're yellin and screamin up on stage? (that's a gimmick) When your career is numbered by days? (that's a gimmick) What's when your lyrical style is just a faze? (that's a gimmick) 2: krs-one) I guess yes y'all, to the beat y'all, bring in the street Let me put my beeper on 'vibrate', so won't hear it beep Representin the street, concrete what I speak, yeah, I live it Let it be known, krs is not about a gimmick I grab the mic and rip it, meanwhile they stallin I raise the mic stand, because I'm tall and I keep the crowd callin I'm not like those other rappers talkin about the caps they peel Punk, I battle mc's for real F**k a record deal when you're still into hip-hoppin With your country ass, sound like you're still pickin cotton You get thrown across the room in that direction, listen The lyrical teacher's not the one you should be checkin This is my eara, or era or eera, whatever, I'm mad clever I shoop, you doop, you doop like salt-n-pepa Lyrical terror, you should never ever come for mine When I rhyme I clean up mc's with the fresh smell of pine I got skills, and it shows You could slow or speed up the tempo, your style is fake like janet jackson's nose I'm sellin that real live shit, and you could get hurt You're sellin that fake shit like the home shopping network You got a lotta rhymes to battle in a second But frankly the bottom line is: where's your hit record? You claim I'm jockin, you claim I'm on your dick, where's your witness? If I'm on your dick, my name has got to be syphilis I come with lyrical physical fitness Two months from now you will have bit this Watch me light that ass up like christmas Don't let me come out on that ass Start flippin the lyrics I be kickin Be hotter than curry chicken So whether from the east or from the west There's no other krs I got force I came to your town to set it off So when finesse goes 'hit it' I'll never mimick Krs-one could never use a gimmick When you're ridin the next rapper's dick (that's a gimmick) When you're r&b, and then you cold flip (that's a gimmick) Start rhymin hardcore just to get a hit (that's a gimmick) When yout get over, but your skills ain't shit (that's a gimmick) When you rap, but you don't have soul (that's a gimmick) When you cross over just to go gold (that's a gimmick) When you're not a gangster, but portrayin a role (that's a gimmick) What's when you shape in somebody else's mould? (that's a gimmick) 3: lord finesse) Man your station, cause the clan you're facin Is steppin to you trash muthaf**kas like sanitatian I shoot and throw rhymes, the whole nine when it's showtime (What up, kid?) brothers know I can hold mine On the real I got rhymes skills When the time's ill I'm blowin up spots like a minefield Brothers front with they chest out But words from finesse's mouth'll leave them niggas stressed out They make me sick to my stomach (So put it on em, kid!) them muthaf**kas don't want it They can't see me, believe me They all phoneys, like them niggas that be wrestlin on tv Yo, they're nowhere near pro And niggas couldn't hang if they was muthaf**kin scarecrows Nowadays a lotta rappers sound fake Talkin that gangster shit, when they're softer than a poundcake So why you're frontin with the burner, kid When you done took more ass-whippins than f**kin tina turner did You wanna front? so be it But f**k beatin around the bush, I just speak how I see it Me fall off? that shit's dead That's not happenin, kid, so get that shit through your thick head I'll never sellout (what?) you head right I'll never cross over (aight!) word life So when I said it, peep the method If I never go gold but get credit, I won't sweat it In '95 we all in it We gotta keep it real, yo, no muthaf**kin gimmicks What's when you rap and don't appreciate the art? (that's a gimmick) What's when you sell out just to get a start? (that's a gimmick) What's when you make bullshit just for the charts? (that's a gimmick) What's when you rap, but it's not from the heart? (that's a gimmick) What's when you're hardcore, then you turn pop? (that's a gimmick) When you steal ideas to get props? (that's a gimmick) When you sell out to be on top? (that's a gimmick) What's when you front like you're hard, but you're not? (that's a gimmick) (Krs-one) Now let this be a lesson to all mc's And dj's Anyone that come across the line will have to pay Real hip hop is in effect Real hip-hop is in effect Real hip-hop is in effect Give it respect We catch wreck

Like who the fuck gone play with say I'll shoot you in your face I be out here going ape make me put you in your place Tay k ima do the race swerve knock em out of place Yeah we know where he stay com play & you gone meet the grave I hate da slangs say a name & ima buss a nigga brain If you blinging ima real nigga snatch a nigga chain don't do no gang Only brothers round me gone leave a stain don't play no games What you said I ain't friendly don't say my name bitch "Yeah I know they fucking with that they gone b fucking with that fr but look watch this fuck with this fr" All the opps be talking shit till they meet this fucking stick 30 for a pussy bitch why you steady pulling dick no I won't miss won't stress the shit Just wait till I catch the bitch god gone need to bless the bitch it was me who blitz your click Got the drop I took the pick Ramsey intercept his shit I flip da pack then send the hit He another off the list now switch the shit I need a brick my brother orchestrate the hit He tender thanking with his dick I got the drop from my lil bitch We pull up bitch get on the ground don't move don't make a fucking sound we gone gun a nigga down if he try to move around Nigga know I'm 10 toes down when I'm spending thru the town Bitch I'm posted in that raq yeah I'm strapped up with my gat nigga bet not try to jack ima take off that boy hat dumb