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