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<pre> |
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Clap your hands everybody, if you got what it takes |
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Cos I'm KRS and I'm on the mic, and Premier's on The Breaks |
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Verse 1 |
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If you don't know me by now I doubt you'll ever know me |
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I never won a Grammy, I won't win a Tony |
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But I'm not the only MC keepin' it real |
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When I grab the mic to smash a rapper, girls go ""Illlll!"" |
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Check the time as I rhyme, it's 1995 |
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Whenever I arrive the party gets liver |
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Flow with the master rhymer, that's to leave behind |
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The video rapper, you know, the chart climber |
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Clapper, down goes another rapper |
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Onto another matter, punch up the data, Blastmaster |
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Knowledge Reigns Supreme Over Nearly Everybody |
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Call up KRS, I'm guaranteed to rip a party |
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Flat top, braids, bald heads or natty dread |
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There once was a story about a man named Jed |
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But now Jed is dead, all his kids instead |
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Want to kick rhymes off the top of they head |
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Word, what go around come around I figure |
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Now we got white kids callin' themselves niggas |
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The tables turned as the crosses burned |
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Remember You Must Learn |
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About the styles I flip and how wild I get |
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I go on like a space age rocket ship |
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You could be a mack, a pimp, hustler or player |
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But make sure live you is a dope rhyme sayer |
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Clap your hands everybody, if you got what it takes |
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Verse 2 |
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Cos I'm KRS and I'm on the mic, and Premier's on The Breaks |
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This is what you waited all year for |
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Verse 1 |
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The hardcore, that's what KRS is here for |
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If you don't know me by now I doubt you'll ever know me |
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big up Grand Wizard Theodore, gettin' ill |
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I never won a Grammy, I won't win a Tony |
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If you see then ya saw I'm in your grill with mad skill |
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But I'm not the only MC keepin' it real |
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MC's can only battle with rhymes that got punchlines |
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When I grab the mic to smash a rapper, girls go ""Illlll!"" |
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Let's battle to see who headlines |
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Check the time as I rhyme, it's 1995 |
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Instead of flow for flow let's go show for show |
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Whenever I arrive the party gets liver |
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Toe for toe, yo, you better act like you know |
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Flow with the master rhymer, that's to leave behind |
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Too many MC's take that word 'emcee' lightly |
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The video rapper, you know, the chart climber |
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They can't Move a Crowd, not even slightly |
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Clapper, down goes another rapper |
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It might be the fact that they express wackness |
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Onto another matter, punch up the data, Blastmaster |
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Let me show ya whose ass is the blackest |
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Knowledge Reigns Supreme Over Nearly Everybody |
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I flip a script a little bit, you ride the tip and shit |
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Call up KRS, I'm guaranteed to rip a party |
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Too sick to get with it, admit you bit, your style is counterfeit |
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Flat top, braids, bald heads or natty dread |
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Now tone it down a bit |
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There once was a story about a man named Jed |
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My title you will never get, I'm too intelligent |
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But now Jed is dead, all his kids instead |
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I'll send your family my sentiments, my style is toxic |
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Want to kick rhymes off the top of they head |
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When I rock and shock and hip hop it unlock your head, I knock it |
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Word, what go around come around I figure |
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It split quick from the lyric |
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Now we got white kids callin' themselves niggas |
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Direct hit, perfect fit, you can't get with it |
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The tables turned as the crosses burned |
|||
Remember You Must Learn |
|||
About the styles I flip and how wild I get |
|||
I go on like a space age rocket ship |
|||
You could be a mack, a pimp, hustler or player |
|||
But make sure live you is a dope rhyme sayer |
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Verse |
Verse 2 |
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This is what you waited all year for |
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The hardcore, that's what KRS is here for |
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big up Grand Wizard Theodore, gettin' ill |
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If you see then ya saw I'm in your grill with mad skill |
|||
MC's can only battle with rhymes that got punchlines |
|||
Let's battle to see who headlines |
|||
Instead of flow for flow let's go show for show |
|||
Toe for toe, yo, you better act like you know |
|||
Too many MC's take that word 'emcee' lightly |
|||
They can't Move a Crowd, not even slightly |
|||
It might be the fact that they express wackness |
|||
Let me show ya whose ass is the blackest |
|||
I flip a script a little bit, you ride the tip and shit |
|||
Too sick to get with it, admit you bit, your style is counterfeit |
|||
Now tone it down a bit |
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My title you will never get, I'm too intelligent |
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I'll send your family my sentiments, my style is toxic |
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When I rock and shock and hip hop it unlock your head, I knock it |
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It split quick from the lyric |
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Direct hit, perfect fit, you can't get with it |
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Verse 3 |
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Some MC's don't like the KRS but they must respect him |
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Cos they know this kid gets all up in they rectum |
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Some MC's don't like the KRS but they must respect him |
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Slappin' and selectin' em, checkin' em, disrespectin' em |
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Cos they know this kid gets all up in they rectum |
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Just deckin' em, deckin' em, deck-in' em |
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Slappin' and selectin' em, checkin' em, disrespectin' em |
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Who in their right mind can mimic a style like mine? |
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Just deckin' em, deckin' em, deck-in' em |
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I design rhyme and get mine all the time |
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Who in their right mind can mimic a style like mine? |
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MC's standin' on the sidelines, always dissin' |
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I design rhyme and get mine all the time |
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MC's standin' on the sidelines, always dissin' |
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I don't burn, I don't freeze, yet some MC's |
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When I roll up and rush their crew they start bitchin' |
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Believe they could tangle with the likes of these |
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I don't burn, I don't freeze, yet some MC's |
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Cross your t's and dot your i's whenever I arrive |
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Believe they could tangle with the likes of these |
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Wide, magnified, live like the ocean tide |
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Cross your t's and dot your i's whenever I arrive |
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You dope, you lied, I reside like artefacts |
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Wide, magnified, live like the ocean tide |
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On the wrong side of the tracks, electrified |
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You dope, you lied, I reside like artefacts |
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Comin' around the mountain, you run and hide |
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On the wrong side of the tracks, electrified |
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Hopin' your defence mechanism can divert my heat-seeking lyricism |
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Comin' around the mountain, you run and hide |
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As I spark mad iszm |
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Hopin' your defence mechanism can divert my heat-seeking lyricism |
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The 1996 lyrical style's what I give 'em |
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As I spark mad [[:Category:Isms|iszm]] |
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The 1996 lyrical style's what I give 'em |
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</pre> |
</pre> |
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Revision as of 15:35, 6 November 2005
MCs Act Like They Dont Know by the KRS One.
Clap your hands everybody, if you got what it takes Cos I'm KRS and I'm on the mic, and Premier's on The Breaks Verse 1 If you don't know me by now I doubt you'll ever know me I never won a Grammy, I won't win a Tony But I'm not the only MC keepin' it real When I grab the mic to smash a rapper, girls go ""Illlll!"" Check the time as I rhyme, it's 1995 Whenever I arrive the party gets liver Flow with the master rhymer, that's to leave behind The video rapper, you know, the chart climber Clapper, down goes another rapper Onto another matter, punch up the data, Blastmaster Knowledge Reigns Supreme Over Nearly Everybody Call up KRS, I'm guaranteed to rip a party Flat top, braids, bald heads or natty dread There once was a story about a man named Jed But now Jed is dead, all his kids instead Want to kick rhymes off the top of they head Word, what go around come around I figure Now we got white kids callin' themselves niggas The tables turned as the crosses burned Remember You Must Learn About the styles I flip and how wild I get I go on like a space age rocket ship You could be a mack, a pimp, hustler or player But make sure live you is a dope rhyme sayer
Verse 2 This is what you waited all year for The hardcore, that's what KRS is here for big up Grand Wizard Theodore, gettin' ill If you see then ya saw I'm in your grill with mad skill MC's can only battle with rhymes that got punchlines Let's battle to see who headlines Instead of flow for flow let's go show for show Toe for toe, yo, you better act like you know Too many MC's take that word 'emcee' lightly They can't Move a Crowd, not even slightly It might be the fact that they express wackness Let me show ya whose ass is the blackest I flip a script a little bit, you ride the tip and shit Too sick to get with it, admit you bit, your style is counterfeit Now tone it down a bit My title you will never get, I'm too intelligent I'll send your family my sentiments, my style is toxic When I rock and shock and hip hop it unlock your head, I knock it It split quick from the lyric Direct hit, perfect fit, you can't get with it
Verse 3
Some MC's don't like the KRS but they must respect him Cos they know this kid gets all up in they rectum Slappin' and selectin' em, checkin' em, disrespectin' em Just deckin' em, deckin' em, deck-in' em Who in their right mind can mimic a style like mine? I design rhyme and get mine all the time MC's standin' on the sidelines, always dissin' When I roll up and rush their crew they start bitchin' I don't burn, I don't freeze, yet some MC's Believe they could tangle with the likes of these Cross your t's and dot your i's whenever I arrive Wide, magnified, live like the ocean tide You dope, you lied, I reside like artefacts On the wrong side of the tracks, electrified Comin' around the mountain, you run and hide Hopin' your defence mechanism can divert my heat-seeking lyricism As I spark mad iszm The 1996 lyrical style's what I give 'em