| I hear the same old rhyme, the same old style
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| The same old runner has ran the mile
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| See I don’t know exactly what you know
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| But what I know is that stuff gotta go
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| Usually when I pick up the mic
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| Something ill jumps out my mouth for that night
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| I like to talk about fact not fiction
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| I got some fantasy rhymes but just listen
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| Everything I write is premeditated
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| Suckers wanna fake it, I just hate it
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| Biting routines or saying something kinda weak
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| My words are comprehended every time I speak
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| I have spoken, no I’m not joking
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| Please don’t sleep, I hope you are awoken
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| Stop! |
| Try this again, you had enough? |
| Say when
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| I am the man with the six-pack of Heineken
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| I get tipsy
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| But never in your life try to dis me
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| Cos I don’t battle with rhymes, I battle with guns
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| Knowledge Reigns Supreme Over Nearly Everyone
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| If you take the first letter of what I just sung
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| You spell my name KRS One
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| It’s elementary
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| DJ Scott LaRock and I, KRS One
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| A mother’s first son and no, we’ll never run
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| From complex situations like you T-O-Y-S's
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| Always talking junk, yet in jail, you’re rocking dresses
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| I have a ride for the purpose of joy
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| Unlike any ordinary Bronx B-Bboy
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| I will volunteer my services and launch an attack
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| On you fake educators with your yakety-yak
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| This is a fact, the teacher is here now in the flesh
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| Consistently hounded by you MC pests
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| If you really want to learn from me
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| Don’t waste time in burning me
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| Cos ignorance and inexperience does not concern me
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| I will emphasize so you will realize and come alive
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| Never close your eyes, never sleep or you might take a dive
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| Many people hate me, many people love me
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| Some are far below me
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| And you know there’s some above me
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| But this, my hypothesis, to conclude the story
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| All you fake MC’s on a mission, you bore me
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| I’m the Blastmaster KRS on the mic
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| Watching all these females rock their pants too tight
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| Cos there’s no other creative composition on display
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| To give a full analysis and rock this way
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| You will pay, eventually you all will decay
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| While the DJ Scott LaRock will continue to play
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| Cutting records, driving cars, and you’ll know who we are
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| Make a mix just for kicks
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| And you’ll be on our tip
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| And, oh yes, there’s a highlight to the show, of course
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| You hear DJ Scott La Rock (Go off! Go off!)
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| Boogie Down Productions, no reduction to its title
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| If you have a headache, toys, go and take a Midol
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| We have arrived for the purpose of enjoyment
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| You have arrived to make up for unemployment
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| You’re on it only cos I learned just how to flaunt it
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| I breathed a rhyme upon you like a sickness and you caught it quick
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| Get off the tip, trick, you must be sick
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| Like a doctor here’s my bill, I wrote it out with a Bic
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| Signed my name upon the bottle cos you know I just rocked 'em
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| But getting into battles really isn’t my thing
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| You’re probably thinking these are the rhymes for the century
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| But please don’t mention me, it’s only elementary |