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Adjust that treble right now adjust the bass
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Turn it up, stop frontin
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C'mon, turn it up
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Alright, check it out ninety-three lyrics, here we go
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Bo!
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I never want a jheri curl up under my hat
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The woman in my bed has got to be strictly black
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I never want money if my lyrics are wack
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So I must, roc, the mic
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I play only the reggae and I play only rap
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I rock the African, the European, and Jap
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Beneath I got to show you that I am all that
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So I must, roc, the mic
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Are you tired of lyrical liars, passing fliers
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Wannabe MC's, but really good triers
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Tripping over mic cords, getting you bored
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A total fraud, this kind of thing I can't afford, so I
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pick up the mic and kill it ill it top bill it
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The cough is a skillet, where MC's get fried in it
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You got beef chill it, blood I spill it
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After seven long years of ripping the party and I'm still widdit
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You call my name I don't think about suing ya
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I come to the club with that BOOYAKA
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Laughing while I'm doin ya the crowd is booin ya
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Gimme one month, record for record on tape I'll ruin ya
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Some likkle awl pon sound bwoy wan fi rule de city
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His style is lookin pretty beats and rhymes are dibby dibby
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Here comes the rootical ratical teacha
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I'll eat ya defeat ya beat ya till ya stagger and ya teeth chatter
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You'll be goin through convulsions as I flash data
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Any rapper can be a decapitated rapper now what's the matter
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You're full of more junk than a sausage
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Let me show you what a real hip-hop artist
|
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*DJ Premier cuts and scratches "My posse from the Bronx is thick!"*
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I never want a jheri curl up under my hat
|
The woman in my bed has got to be strictly black
|
I never want money if my lyrics are wack
|
So I must, roc, the mic
|
I play only the reggae and I play only rap
|
I rock the African, the European, and Jap
|
Beneath I got to show you that I am all that
|
So I must, roc, the mic
|
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Of course yeah I'm the most brilliant recording artist in your life
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Never have to repeat a rhyme style twice, precise
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In a lyrical drought like water to your lips oh yes my lyrics will suffice
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I'm nice, like beans and rice, I am delicious
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Who's the freshest lyricist on the mic, you don't want to fuck with Kris is
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Lyric for lyric rhyme for rhyme style for style I break you like dishes
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Either you come fully correct or the lyrics you simply makin wishes
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We got no time for fake black leaders and dreamers blowin wishes
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youse a fraud, I mean a fraud like in fraudulation
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I know what it is, the crown of rhyme supremacy you're tastin
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And yes, before the flavor hits your greedy tongue
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You get ripped up by KRS-One
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Now, lyrics, somebody want lyrics, from the lyrical terrorist
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Here's a little somethin for you all to remember Kris, and remember this
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I am no pessimist, more of an optimist
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Activist revolutionist, yes the hardest artist
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And the smartest, Premier, spark this
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*Premier cuts and scratches "My posse from the Bronx is thick!"*
|
|
I never want a jheri curl up under my hat
|
The woman in my bed has got to be strictly black
|
I never want money if my lyrics are wack
|
So I must, roc, the mic
|
I play only the reggae and I play only rap
|
I rock the African, the European, and Jap
|
Beneath I got to show you that I am all that
|
So I must, roc, the mic
|
|
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-----------------
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Mortal Thought (I Must Roc the Mic)
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KRS-One |