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Adjust that treble right now adjust the bass
Turn it up, stop frontin
C`mon, turn it up
Alright, check it out ninety-three lyrics, here we go
Bo!

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

Are you tired of lyrical liars, passing fliers
Wannabe MC`s, but really good triers
Tripping over mic cords, getting you bored
A total fraud, this kind of thing I can`t afford, so I
pick up the mic and kill it ill it top bill it
The cough is a skillet, where MC`s get fried in it
You got beef chill it, blood I spill it
After seven long years of ripping the party and I`m still widdit
You call my name I don`t think about suing ya
I come to the club with that BOOYAKA
Laughing while I`m doin ya the crowd is booin ya
Gimme one month, record for record on tape I`ll ruin ya
Some likkle awl pon sound bwoy wan fi rule de city
His style is lookin pretty beats and rhymes are dibby dibby
Here comes the rootical ratical teacha
I`ll eat ya defeat ya beat ya till ya stagger and ya teeth chatter
You`ll be goin through convulsions as I flash data
Any rapper can be a decapitated rapper now what`s the matter
You`re full of more junk than a sausage
Let me show you what a real hip-hop artist

*DJ 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

Of course yeah I`m the most brilliant recording artist in your life
Never have to repeat a rhyme style twice, precise
In a lyrical drought like water to your lips oh yes my lyrics will suffice
I`m nice, like beans and rice, I am delicious
Who`s the freshest lyricist on the mic, you don`t want to fuck with Kris is
Lyric for lyric rhyme for rhyme style for style I break you like dishes
Either you come fully correct or the lyrics you simply makin wishes
We got no time for fake black leaders and dreamers blowin wishes
youse a fraud, I mean a fraud like in fraudulation
I know what it is, the crown of rhyme supremacy you`re tastin
And yes, before the flavor hits your greedy tongue
You get ripped up by KRS-One
Now, lyrics, somebody want lyrics, from the lyrical terrorist
Here`s a little somethin for you all to remember Kris, and remember this
I am no pessimist, more of an optimist
Activist revolutionist, yes the hardest artist
And the smartest, Premier, spark this

*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

Adjust that treble right now adjust the bass
Turn it up, stop frontin
C`mon, turn it up
Alright, check it out ninety-three lyrics, here we go
Bo!

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

Are you tired of lyrical liars, passing fliers
Wannabe MC`s, but really good triers
Tripping over mic cords, getting you bored
A total fraud, this kind of thing I can`t afford, so I
pick up the mic and kill it ill it top bill it
The cough is a skillet, where MC`s get fried in it
You got beef chill it, blood I spill it
After seven long years of ripping the party and I`m still widdit
You call my name I don`t think about suing ya
I come to the club with that BOOYAKA
Laughing while I`m doin ya the crowd is booin ya
Gimme one month, record for record on tape I`ll ruin ya
Some likkle awl pon sound bwoy wan fi rule de city
His style is lookin pretty beats and rhymes are dibby dibby
Here comes the rootical ratical teacha
I`ll eat ya defeat ya beat ya till ya stagger and ya teeth chatter
You`ll be goin through convulsions as I flash data
Any rapper can be a decapitated rapper now what`s the matter
You`re full of more junk than a sausage
Let me show you what a real hip-hop artist

*DJ 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

Of course yeah I`m the most brilliant recording artist in your life
Never have to repeat a rhyme style twice, precise
In a lyrical drought like water to your lips oh yes my lyrics will suffice
I`m nice, like beans and rice, I am delicious
Who`s the freshest lyricist on the mic, you don`t want to fuck with Kris is
Lyric for lyric rhyme for rhyme style for style I break you like dishes
Either you come fully correct or the lyrics you simply makin wishes
We got no time for fake black leaders and dreamers blowin wishes
youse a fraud, I mean a fraud like in fraudulation
I know what it is, the crown of rhyme supremacy you`re tastin
And yes, before the flavor hits your greedy tongue
You get ripped up by KRS-One
Now, lyrics, somebody want lyrics, from the lyrical terrorist
Here`s a little somethin for you all to remember Kris, and remember this
I am no pessimist, more of an optimist
Activist revolutionist, yes the hardest artist
And the smartest, Premier, spark this

*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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