[Lord Finesse]
Check it out, come on, here's your chance to swing
With some ill m****f****s, we don't dance and sing.
In '95, we out jinglin',
Servin' poetic justice wit'out that n**** John Singleton.
I do my thing while the fans be jealin'.
A'yo, I'm so dope, you better tap your man and tell him.
I don't fake moves, I scrape crews, I make brothers break fool.
Just give me a beat wit' a bass groove.
I'm mad funky, ask the experts
'Cause I make ya bob ya head until your m****f***in' neck hurt.
So don't ask me to match, G.
'Cause if you ai[Lord Finesse ]
Check it out, come on, here's your chance to swing
With some ill m****f****s, we don't dance and sing.
In '95, we out jinglin',
Servin' poetic justice wit'out that n**** John Singleton.
I do my thing while the fans be jealin'.
A'yo, I'm so dope, you better tap your man and tell him.
I don't fake moves, I scrape crews, I make brothers break fool.
Just give me a beat wit' a bass groove.
I'm mad funky, ask the experts
'Cause I make ya bob ya head until your m****f***in' neck hurt.
So don't ask me to match, G.
'Cause if you ain't real, I'm bringin' it to your face like acne.
Now rappers run scams and flim-flams
On how they be gettin' loose when they rusty like the tin man.
They rap fast, tryin' to stack cash.
But on the reel to reel, yo, they still soundin' half-a**ed;
Yellin' and screamin' like they got somethin'
When they don't got nothin', so them n***** need to stop frontin'.
Talkin' how they be raggin' s***
When I don't know if them n***** are rappin' or talkin m****f***in' Arabic.
They act so ill, they no frills.
They should go chill, they all mouth with no skills.
When I'm around, they all feel funny
'Cause I'm young, makin' funds like Shaquille O'Neal, money.
You want any drama? You better wear plenty armor,
I cut that a** like the chef at Benihana's.
The funky man's in it to win it.
We gotta keep it real yo, no m****f***in' gimmicks!
Whoever make a hit, they the best. (That's a gimmick!)
You sell records based on how you dress. (That's a gimmick!)
A'yo, that tongue-twistin' s***, that's kinda fresh! (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you're soft, but you're frontin' like you're stressed? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you're only into rap to get paid? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you're yellin' and screamin' up on stage? (That's a gimmick!)
When your career is numbered by days? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when your lyrical style is just a phase? (That's a gimmick!)
[KRS-One ]
A-yes, yes, y'all, to the beat y'all, bring in the street.
Let me put my beeper on "vibrate" so we won't hear it beep.
Representin' the street, concrete what I speak. Yeah, I live it.
Let it be known, KRS is not about a gimmick.
I grab the mic and rip it, meanwhile they stallin'.
I raise the mic stand because I'm tall and I keep the crowd crawlin'.
I'm not like those other rappers talkin' about the caps they peel.
Punk, I battle MCs for real!
f*** a record deal when you're still into hip-hoppin'
Wit' your country a**, sound like you're still pickin' cotton.
You'll get thrown across the room in that direction, listen.
The lyrical teacher's not the one you should be checkin'.
This is my "eara" or era or "eera", whatever.
I'm mad clever, I'll shoop your doop, you doop like Salt-N-Pepa.
Lyrical terror, you should never ever come for mine.
When I rhyme, I clean up MCs with the fresh smell of pine.
I got skills and it shows.
You could slow or speed up the tempo,
Your style is fake like Janet Jackson's nose.
I'm sellin' that real live s*** and you could get hurt,
You're sellin' that fake s*** like the Home Shoppin' Network.
You got a lotta rhymes to battle in a second,
But frankly the bottom line is: where's your hit record?
You claim I'm jockin', you claim I'm on your d***. Where's your witness?
If I'm on your d***, my name has got to be syphilis.
I come with lyrical, physical fitness.
Two months from now, you would have bit this,
Watch me light that a** up like Christmas.
Don't let me come out on that a**,
Start flippin' the lyrics I be kickin'
Be hotter than jerk chicken.
So whether from the east or from the west, there's no other KRS.
I got force, I came to your town to set it off.
So when Finesse goes "hit it!", I'll never mimick.
KRS-One could never use a gimmick.
When you're ridin' the next rapper's d***, (That's a gimmick!)
When you're R&B and then ya cold flip, (That's a gimmick!)
Start rhymin' hardcore just to get a hit, (That's a gimmick!)
When ya get over but your skills ain't s***, (That's a gimmick!)
When ya rap, but you don't have soul, (That's a gimmick!)
When you cross over just to go gold, (That's a gimmick!)
When you're not a gangsta, but portrayin' a role, (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you shape in somebody else's mould? (That's a gimmick!)
[Lord Finesse ]
Man your station 'cause the clan you're facin'
Is steppin' to ya trash m****f****s like sanitation.
I shoot and throw rhymes, the whole nine.
When it's showtime, (What up, kid?) brothers know I could hold mine.
On the real, I got rhyme skills.
When the time's ill, I'm blowin' up spots like a minefield.
Brothers front with they chest out,
But words from Finesse mouth'll leave them n***** stressed out.
They make me sick to my stomach.
(So put it on 'em, kid!) Them m****f****s don't want it.
They can't see me, believe me.
They all phonies like them n***** that be wrestlin' on TV.
Yo, they nowhere near pro
And n***** couldn't hang if they was m****f***in' scarecrows.
Nowadays, a lot of rappers sound fake,
Talkin' that gangsta s*** when they softer than a poundcake.
So why ya frontin' with the burner, kid,
When ya done took more a**-whippins' than f*****' Tina Turner did?
You wanna front? So be it.
But f*** beatin' around the bush, I just speak how I see it.
Me fall off? That s***'s dead.
That's not happenin', kid, so get that s*** through your thick head.
I'll never sell out. (What?) Ya heard right.
I'll never cross over. (A'ight!) Word life.
So when I said it, peep the method.
If I never go gold but get credit, I won't sweat it.
In '95, we all in it.
We gotta keep it real, yo, no m****f***in' gimmicks!
What's when you rap and don't appreciate the art? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you sell out just to get a start? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you make bullshit just for the charts? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you rap, but it's not from the heart? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you're hardcore, then you turn pop? (That's a gimmick!)
When you steal ideas to get props? (That's a gimmick!)
When you sell out to be on top? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you front like you're hard, but you're not? (That's a gimmick!)
n't real, I'm bringin' it to your face like acne.
Now rappers run scams and flim-flams
On how they be gettin' loose when they rusty like the tin man.
They rap fast, tryin' to stack cash.
But on the reel to reel, yo, they still soundin' half-a**ed;
Yellin' and screamin' like they got somethin'
When they don't got nothin', so them n***** need to stop frontin'.
Talkin' how they be raggin' s***
When I don't know if them n***** are rappin' or talkin m****f***in' Arabic.
They act so ill, they no frills.
They should go chill, they all mouth with no skills.
When I'm around, they all feel funny
'Cause I'm young, makin' funds like Shaquille O'Neal, money.
You want any drama? You better wear plenty armor,
I cut that a** like the chef at Benihana's.
The funky man's in it to win it.
We gotta keep it real yo, no m****f***in' gimmicks!
Whoever make a hit, they the best. (That's a gimmick!)
You sell records based on how you dress. (That's a gimmick!)
A'yo, that tongue-twistin' s***, that's kinda fresh! (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you're soft, but you're frontin' like you're stressed? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you're only into rap to get paid? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you're yellin' and screamin' up on stage? (That's a gimmick!)
When your career is numbered by days? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when your lyrical style is just a phase? (That's a gimmick!)
[KRS-One ]
A-yes, yes, y'all, to the beat y'all, bring in the street.
Let me put my beeper on "vibrate" so we won't hear it beep.
Representin' the street, concrete what I speak. Yeah, I live it.
Let it be known, KRS is not about a gimmick.
I grab the mic and rip it, meanwhile they stallin'.
I raise the mic stand because I'm tall and I keep the crowd crawlin'.
I'm not like those other rappers talkin' about the caps they peel.
Punk, I battle MCs for real!
f*** a record deal when you're still into hip-hoppin'
Wit' your country a**, sound like you're still pickin' cotton.
You'll get thrown across the room in that direction, listen.
The lyrical teacher's not the one you should be checkin'.
This is my "eara" or era or "eera", whatever.
I'm mad clever, I'll shoop your doop, you doop like Salt-N-Pepa.
Lyrical terror, you should never ever come for mine.
When I rhyme, I clean up MCs with the fresh smell of pine.
I got skills and it shows.
You could slow or speed up the tempo,
Your style is fake like Janet Jackson's nose.
I'm sellin' that real live s*** and you could get hurt,
You're sellin' that fake s*** like the Home Shoppin' Network.
You got a lotta rhymes to battle in a second,
But frankly the bottom line is: where's your hit record?
You claim I'm jockin', you claim I'm on your d***. Where's your witness?
If I'm on your d***, my name has got to be syphilis.
I come with lyrical, physical fitness.
Two months from now, you would have bit this,
Watch me light that a** up like Christmas.
Don't let me come out on that a**,
Start flippin' the lyrics I be kickin'
Be hotter than jerk chicken.
So whether from the east or from the west, there's no other KRS.
I got force, I came to your town to set it off.
So when Finesse goes "hit it!", I'll never mimick.
KRS-One could never use a gimmick.
When you're ridin' the next rapper's d***, (That's a gimmick!)
When you're R&B and then ya cold flip, (That's a gimmick!)
Start rhymin' hardcore just to get a hit, (That's a gimmick)
When ya get over but your skills ain't s***, (That's a gimmick)
When ya rap, but you don't have soul, (That's a gimmick!)
When you cross over just to go gold, (That's a gimmick!)
When you're not a gangsta, but portrayin' a role, (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you shape in somebody else's mould? (That's a gimmick!)
[Lord Finesse ]
Man your station 'cause the clan you're facin'
Is steppin' to ya trash m****f****s like sanitation.
I shoot and throw rhymes, the whole nine.
When it's showtime, (What up, kid?) brothers know I could hold mine.
On the real, I got rhyme skills.
When the time's ill, I'm blowin' up spots like a minefield.
Brothers front with they chest out,
But words from Finesse mouth'll leave them n***** stressed out.
They make me sick to my stomach.
(So put it on 'em, kid!) Them m****f****s don't want it.
They can't see me, believe me.
They all phonies like them n***** that be wrestlin' on TV.
Yo, they nowhere near pro
And n***** couldn't hang if they was m****f***in' scarecrows.
Nowadays, a lot of rappers sound fake,
Talkin' that gangsta s*** when they softer than a poundcake.
So why ya frontin' with the burner, kid,
When ya done took more a**-whippins' than f*****' Tina Turner did?
You wanna front? So be it.
But f*** beatin' around the bush, I just speak how I see it.
Me fall off? That s***'s dead.
That's not happenin', kid, so get that s*** through your thick head.
I'll never sell out. (What?) Ya heard right.
I'll never cross over. (A'ight!) Word life.
So when I said it, peep the method.
If I never go gold but get credit, I won't sweat it.
In '95, we all in it.
We gotta keep it real, yo, no m****f***in' gimmicks!
What's when you rap and don't appreciate the art? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you sell out just to get a start? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you make bullshit just for the charts? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you rap, but it's not from the heart? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you're hardcore, then you turn pop? (That's a gimmick!)
When you steal ideas to get props? (That's a gimmick!)
When you sell out to be on top? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you front like you're hard, but you're not? (That's a gimmick!)
Check it out, come on, here's your chance to swing
With some ill m****f****s, we don't dance and sing.
In '95, we out jinglin',
Servin' poetic justice wit'out that n**** John Singleton.
I do my thing while the fans be jealin'.
A'yo, I'm so dope, you better tap your man and tell him.
I don't fake moves, I scrape crews, I make brothers break fool.
Just give me a beat wit' a bass groove.
I'm mad funky, ask the experts
'Cause I make ya bob ya head until your m****f***in' neck hurt.
So don't ask me to match, G.
'Cause if you ai[Lord Finesse ]
Check it out, come on, here's your chance to swing
With some ill m****f****s, we don't dance and sing.
In '95, we out jinglin',
Servin' poetic justice wit'out that n**** John Singleton.
I do my thing while the fans be jealin'.
A'yo, I'm so dope, you better tap your man and tell him.
I don't fake moves, I scrape crews, I make brothers break fool.
Just give me a beat wit' a bass groove.
I'm mad funky, ask the experts
'Cause I make ya bob ya head until your m****f***in' neck hurt.
So don't ask me to match, G.
'Cause if you ain't real, I'm bringin' it to your face like acne.
Now rappers run scams and flim-flams
On how they be gettin' loose when they rusty like the tin man.
They rap fast, tryin' to stack cash.
But on the reel to reel, yo, they still soundin' half-a**ed;
Yellin' and screamin' like they got somethin'
When they don't got nothin', so them n***** need to stop frontin'.
Talkin' how they be raggin' s***
When I don't know if them n***** are rappin' or talkin m****f***in' Arabic.
They act so ill, they no frills.
They should go chill, they all mouth with no skills.
When I'm around, they all feel funny
'Cause I'm young, makin' funds like Shaquille O'Neal, money.
You want any drama? You better wear plenty armor,
I cut that a** like the chef at Benihana's.
The funky man's in it to win it.
We gotta keep it real yo, no m****f***in' gimmicks!
Whoever make a hit, they the best. (That's a gimmick!)
You sell records based on how you dress. (That's a gimmick!)
A'yo, that tongue-twistin' s***, that's kinda fresh! (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you're soft, but you're frontin' like you're stressed? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you're only into rap to get paid? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you're yellin' and screamin' up on stage? (That's a gimmick!)
When your career is numbered by days? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when your lyrical style is just a phase? (That's a gimmick!)
[KRS-One ]
A-yes, yes, y'all, to the beat y'all, bring in the street.
Let me put my beeper on "vibrate" so we won't hear it beep.
Representin' the street, concrete what I speak. Yeah, I live it.
Let it be known, KRS is not about a gimmick.
I grab the mic and rip it, meanwhile they stallin'.
I raise the mic stand because I'm tall and I keep the crowd crawlin'.
I'm not like those other rappers talkin' about the caps they peel.
Punk, I battle MCs for real!
f*** a record deal when you're still into hip-hoppin'
Wit' your country a**, sound like you're still pickin' cotton.
You'll get thrown across the room in that direction, listen.
The lyrical teacher's not the one you should be checkin'.
This is my "eara" or era or "eera", whatever.
I'm mad clever, I'll shoop your doop, you doop like Salt-N-Pepa.
Lyrical terror, you should never ever come for mine.
When I rhyme, I clean up MCs with the fresh smell of pine.
I got skills and it shows.
You could slow or speed up the tempo,
Your style is fake like Janet Jackson's nose.
I'm sellin' that real live s*** and you could get hurt,
You're sellin' that fake s*** like the Home Shoppin' Network.
You got a lotta rhymes to battle in a second,
But frankly the bottom line is: where's your hit record?
You claim I'm jockin', you claim I'm on your d***. Where's your witness?
If I'm on your d***, my name has got to be syphilis.
I come with lyrical, physical fitness.
Two months from now, you would have bit this,
Watch me light that a** up like Christmas.
Don't let me come out on that a**,
Start flippin' the lyrics I be kickin'
Be hotter than jerk chicken.
So whether from the east or from the west, there's no other KRS.
I got force, I came to your town to set it off.
So when Finesse goes "hit it!", I'll never mimick.
KRS-One could never use a gimmick.
When you're ridin' the next rapper's d***, (That's a gimmick!)
When you're R&B and then ya cold flip, (That's a gimmick!)
Start rhymin' hardcore just to get a hit, (That's a gimmick!)
When ya get over but your skills ain't s***, (That's a gimmick!)
When ya rap, but you don't have soul, (That's a gimmick!)
When you cross over just to go gold, (That's a gimmick!)
When you're not a gangsta, but portrayin' a role, (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you shape in somebody else's mould? (That's a gimmick!)
[Lord Finesse ]
Man your station 'cause the clan you're facin'
Is steppin' to ya trash m****f****s like sanitation.
I shoot and throw rhymes, the whole nine.
When it's showtime, (What up, kid?) brothers know I could hold mine.
On the real, I got rhyme skills.
When the time's ill, I'm blowin' up spots like a minefield.
Brothers front with they chest out,
But words from Finesse mouth'll leave them n***** stressed out.
They make me sick to my stomach.
(So put it on 'em, kid!) Them m****f****s don't want it.
They can't see me, believe me.
They all phonies like them n***** that be wrestlin' on TV.
Yo, they nowhere near pro
And n***** couldn't hang if they was m****f***in' scarecrows.
Nowadays, a lot of rappers sound fake,
Talkin' that gangsta s*** when they softer than a poundcake.
So why ya frontin' with the burner, kid,
When ya done took more a**-whippins' than f*****' Tina Turner did?
You wanna front? So be it.
But f*** beatin' around the bush, I just speak how I see it.
Me fall off? That s***'s dead.
That's not happenin', kid, so get that s*** through your thick head.
I'll never sell out. (What?) Ya heard right.
I'll never cross over. (A'ight!) Word life.
So when I said it, peep the method.
If I never go gold but get credit, I won't sweat it.
In '95, we all in it.
We gotta keep it real, yo, no m****f***in' gimmicks!
What's when you rap and don't appreciate the art? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you sell out just to get a start? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you make bullshit just for the charts? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you rap, but it's not from the heart? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you're hardcore, then you turn pop? (That's a gimmick!)
When you steal ideas to get props? (That's a gimmick!)
When you sell out to be on top? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you front like you're hard, but you're not? (That's a gimmick!)
n't real, I'm bringin' it to your face like acne.
Now rappers run scams and flim-flams
On how they be gettin' loose when they rusty like the tin man.
They rap fast, tryin' to stack cash.
But on the reel to reel, yo, they still soundin' half-a**ed;
Yellin' and screamin' like they got somethin'
When they don't got nothin', so them n***** need to stop frontin'.
Talkin' how they be raggin' s***
When I don't know if them n***** are rappin' or talkin m****f***in' Arabic.
They act so ill, they no frills.
They should go chill, they all mouth with no skills.
When I'm around, they all feel funny
'Cause I'm young, makin' funds like Shaquille O'Neal, money.
You want any drama? You better wear plenty armor,
I cut that a** like the chef at Benihana's.
The funky man's in it to win it.
We gotta keep it real yo, no m****f***in' gimmicks!
Whoever make a hit, they the best. (That's a gimmick!)
You sell records based on how you dress. (That's a gimmick!)
A'yo, that tongue-twistin' s***, that's kinda fresh! (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you're soft, but you're frontin' like you're stressed? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you're only into rap to get paid? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you're yellin' and screamin' up on stage? (That's a gimmick!)
When your career is numbered by days? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when your lyrical style is just a phase? (That's a gimmick!)
[KRS-One ]
A-yes, yes, y'all, to the beat y'all, bring in the street.
Let me put my beeper on "vibrate" so we won't hear it beep.
Representin' the street, concrete what I speak. Yeah, I live it.
Let it be known, KRS is not about a gimmick.
I grab the mic and rip it, meanwhile they stallin'.
I raise the mic stand because I'm tall and I keep the crowd crawlin'.
I'm not like those other rappers talkin' about the caps they peel.
Punk, I battle MCs for real!
f*** a record deal when you're still into hip-hoppin'
Wit' your country a**, sound like you're still pickin' cotton.
You'll get thrown across the room in that direction, listen.
The lyrical teacher's not the one you should be checkin'.
This is my "eara" or era or "eera", whatever.
I'm mad clever, I'll shoop your doop, you doop like Salt-N-Pepa.
Lyrical terror, you should never ever come for mine.
When I rhyme, I clean up MCs with the fresh smell of pine.
I got skills and it shows.
You could slow or speed up the tempo,
Your style is fake like Janet Jackson's nose.
I'm sellin' that real live s*** and you could get hurt,
You're sellin' that fake s*** like the Home Shoppin' Network.
You got a lotta rhymes to battle in a second,
But frankly the bottom line is: where's your hit record?
You claim I'm jockin', you claim I'm on your d***. Where's your witness?
If I'm on your d***, my name has got to be syphilis.
I come with lyrical, physical fitness.
Two months from now, you would have bit this,
Watch me light that a** up like Christmas.
Don't let me come out on that a**,
Start flippin' the lyrics I be kickin'
Be hotter than jerk chicken.
So whether from the east or from the west, there's no other KRS.
I got force, I came to your town to set it off.
So when Finesse goes "hit it!", I'll never mimick.
KRS-One could never use a gimmick.
When you're ridin' the next rapper's d***, (That's a gimmick!)
When you're R&B and then ya cold flip, (That's a gimmick!)
Start rhymin' hardcore just to get a hit, (That's a gimmick)
When ya get over but your skills ain't s***, (That's a gimmick)
When ya rap, but you don't have soul, (That's a gimmick!)
When you cross over just to go gold, (That's a gimmick!)
When you're not a gangsta, but portrayin' a role, (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you shape in somebody else's mould? (That's a gimmick!)
[Lord Finesse ]
Man your station 'cause the clan you're facin'
Is steppin' to ya trash m****f****s like sanitation.
I shoot and throw rhymes, the whole nine.
When it's showtime, (What up, kid?) brothers know I could hold mine.
On the real, I got rhyme skills.
When the time's ill, I'm blowin' up spots like a minefield.
Brothers front with they chest out,
But words from Finesse mouth'll leave them n***** stressed out.
They make me sick to my stomach.
(So put it on 'em, kid!) Them m****f****s don't want it.
They can't see me, believe me.
They all phonies like them n***** that be wrestlin' on TV.
Yo, they nowhere near pro
And n***** couldn't hang if they was m****f***in' scarecrows.
Nowadays, a lot of rappers sound fake,
Talkin' that gangsta s*** when they softer than a poundcake.
So why ya frontin' with the burner, kid,
When ya done took more a**-whippins' than f*****' Tina Turner did?
You wanna front? So be it.
But f*** beatin' around the bush, I just speak how I see it.
Me fall off? That s***'s dead.
That's not happenin', kid, so get that s*** through your thick head.
I'll never sell out. (What?) Ya heard right.
I'll never cross over. (A'ight!) Word life.
So when I said it, peep the method.
If I never go gold but get credit, I won't sweat it.
In '95, we all in it.
We gotta keep it real, yo, no m****f***in' gimmicks!
What's when you rap and don't appreciate the art? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you sell out just to get a start? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you make bullshit just for the charts? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you rap, but it's not from the heart? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you're hardcore, then you turn pop? (That's a gimmick!)
When you steal ideas to get props? (That's a gimmick!)
When you sell out to be on top? (That's a gimmick!)
What's when you front like you're hard, but you're not? (That's a gimmick!)