(feat. Ill Will)

[Intro]


[D.J. Premier]


Tellin' it like it is, right about now D.J. Premier is in the
mother$#&@in' house and %#@!, ya know what I'm sayin'? But yo,
yo Kris, run that %#@!, ya know what I'm sayin'? That, that %#@!,

my joint. Run that mother$#&@er...it's only right kid...

[KRS-One]


(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

[Verse]


[Ill Will]


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 %#@! (but sink no mother$#&@in' 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
$#&@ it, kick the body right over

and say "See ya, hmm...nice to know ya"
Got another rapper to see
Yo Kris, bust that $$# (certainly)


[KRS-One]


If you're shiverin' get off the pot
Let the original rapper rock the spot
You stand there and jock, goin' (mumbles)

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 $$# 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


[Ill Will]

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]

[KRS-One]


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 (*##$, 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 $$# in the deep dirt
Black, you'll come up dizzy sayin' "How da $#&@ 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 mother$#&@in' teacher

[Outro]


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?