Intro
 ~~~~~

 [D.J. Premier]

 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...

 [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 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]

 [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 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
 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 bitch, 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 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, 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 motherfuckin' 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