| Ah yeah, that’s whatcha say when you see a devil down
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| Ah yeah, that’s whatcha say when you take the devil’s crown
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| Ah yeah, stay alive all things will change around
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| Ah yeah, what? |
| Ah yeah!
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| Verse One: KRS-One
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| So here I go kickin science in ninety-five
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| I be illin, parental discretion is advised still
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| dont call me nigga, this MC goes for his
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| Call me God, cause that’s what the black man is Roamin through the forest as the hardest lyrical artist
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| Black women you are not a bitch you’re a Goddess
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| Let it be known, you can lean on KRS-One
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| Like a wall cause I’m hard, I represent GOD
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| Wack MC’s have only one style: gun buck
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| But when you say, Let’s buck for revolution
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| They shut the fuck up, kid, get with it Down to start a riot in a minute
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| You’ll hear so many Bowe-Bowe-Bowe, you think I’m Riddick
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| While other MC’s are talkin bout up with hope down with dope
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| I’ll have a devil in my infrared scope, WOY!
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| That’s for calling my father a boy and, KLAK KLAK KLAK!
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| That’s for putting scars on my mother’s back, BO!
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| That’s for calling my sister a hoe, and for you
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| BUCK BUCK BUCK, cause I don’t give a motherfuck
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| Remember the whip, remember the chant, remember about rope and
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| you black people still thinkin about vot-ing
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| Every president we ever had lied
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| You know I’m kinda glad Nixon died!
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| Verse Two: KRS
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| This is not the first time I came to the planet
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| But everytime I come, only a few could understand it I came as Isis, my words they tried to ban it I came as Moses, they couldn’t follow my commandments
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| I came as Solomon, to a people that was lost
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| I came as Jesus, but they nailed me to a cross
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| I came as Harriet Tubman, I put the truth to Sojourner
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| Other times, I had to come as Nat Turner
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| They tried to burn me, lynch me and starve me So I had to come back as Marcus Garvey, Bob Marley
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| They tried to harm me, I used to be Malcolm X Now I’m on the planet as the one called KRS
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| Kickin the metaphysical, spiritual, tryin to like
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| get wit you, showin you, you are invincible
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| The Black Panther is the black answer for real
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| In my spiritual form, I turn into Bobby Seale
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| On the wheels of steel, my spirit flies away
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| and enters into Kwame Ture
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| Verse Three: KRS-One
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| In the streets there is no EQ, no di-do-di-do-di-do
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| So I grab the air and speak through the code
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| the devil cannot see through as I unload
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| into another cerebellum
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| Then I can tell em, because my vibes go through denim
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| and leather whatever, however, I’m still rockin
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| We used to pick cotton, now we pick up cotton when we shoppin
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| Have you forgotten why we buildin in a cypher
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| Yo hear me kid, government is building in a pyramid
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| The son of God is brighter than the son of man
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| The spirit is, check your dollar bill G, here it is We got no time for fancy mathematics
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| Your mental frequency frequently pickin up static
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| Makin you a naked body, attic and it’s democratic
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| They press auto, and you kill it with an automatic |