Lyrics No Wack DJs - KRS-One

No Wack DJs

Me-don't-wan'-me-don't-wan'-me-don't-wan'-me-don't-wan' no whack deejay-uh
Me-don't-wan'-me-don't-wan'-me-don't-wan'-me-don't-wan' no whack deejay-uh
Me don’t like what they play, me don’t like what they say
Me-don't-wan'-me-don't-wan'-me-don't-wan'-me-don't-wan' no whack deejay-uh
New flow, new style, comin in BOOM BAP
Who now wanna throw down, the crew’s wild
One flow — you go, two flows — you outta here
We pros, three flows, buck through your outer gear
Let’s raise the fahrenheit on these DJ’s we don’t like
You know who I’m talkin about, yo they might come on tonight
They never hype, never tight, that’s not polite
Am I lyin?
No you’re quit right
So tonight, I be statin facts, most DJ’s are whack
They be holdin back, they NBA — Never Broke a Act
Yo I’m hopin that, new DJ’s open rap, bring the focus back
And take the crates from these fakes to the lake and throw 'em OVER that
We lead 'em to freedom or poetically beat 'em up
In conventions like meet 'em, see them, we plan to eat 'em up
I’m bein MC’in seein and agreein that this here cut
DEFINITELY will hit them up, so we sing
I SCREAM on these rappers like directors do actors
Hang with computer hackers on farms and ride tractors
Thug spelled backwards is GUT, drop the H
If you ain’t got guts and you callin yourself a thug, you a fake!
Not just the guts to bust off 44 calibre
Cause mad thugs turn bitch when you show that ass algebra
It’s like… the vexed look, the sex look
The checks look, cause brothers be, scared of that textbook!
You best look elsewhere, knowledge of self here
Never no welfare, echinicea for health care
Outrappin 'em, slappin 'em, ghetto scholar like Pun, Joey Crack and them
On spraypaint we put fat caps on 'em (WORD)
Up in the yard, we go to hittin it harder
Then return to reprieve as mild-mannered Kris Parker
The exec, signin on checks, approvin budgets
But if you want it, meet me at any club, we can THUG IT
N.O.R.E.
goes «WHAT WHAT,» Cube goes «YEH-YEAH!»
Jamaicans go «BUCK BUCK,» MC Eiht goes «GYEAH~!»
Master P goes «UNGHHH,» Busta RHymes goes «YAH YAH»
KRS-One goes «WOOP WOOP» like cop cars
Cause I pull over pop stars and arrest they guitars
And sentence them to the turntables, cuttin on 8 bars
Shakin 'em up, rippin 'em down, brother whattup?
Gimme a pound
You diggin the sound I’m bringin around, shakin the ground, never a clown
You know that you buggin, but you also know that you love it
Somethin new and bumpin others be frontin
They can’t even think about, new flows and techniques
They speak when the check speaks but KRS-One is direct heat
with ad libs
YES!!!