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KRS One( KRS-One )
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Slap Them Up
Lyricist:William Broady, Norberto Cotto, Douglas Jones, Lawrence Parker
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, do, do it) Drop that bass line, you want lyrics? We give ya lyrics, check it out now, one time (Do it, do, do, do it)
When we come in all de dance 'nuff D.J.'s shut up, woy Gal, will ya come slap them up When we come in all de dance 'nuff D.J.'s shut up, woy Ill will, slap them 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 but sink no motherfuckin' ships
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 certainly
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 Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com 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, well, that was fresh
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 behavior Lyrical talent, imagination and flavor
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, 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 them up When we come in all de dance 'nuff D.J.'s shut up, woy Gal, will ya come slap them up
Do it, do, do, do it 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? Do it, do, do, do it, do it, do, do, do it
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