Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song As You Already Know , by - KRS-One. Song from the album D.I.G.I.T.A.L., in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 24.04.2006
Record label: X-Ray
Song language: English
As You Already Know |
| Now y’all already know |
| I don’t care who’s first, or who last |
| But even though it’s a new millenium |
| You still got to rock this at the drop of a dime baby |
| Fuck y’all niggaz want?! |
| Is it Truck, well you got it Bet this gunblast, seek your chest and leave your moms brokenhearted |
| Get me started, come up against THIS, is you RETARDED~?! |
| I ain’t shit on you motherfuckers yet, I only farted |
| Take the dopest nigga from my borough, that’s Kris, put him on my shit |
| The hottest latino rapper Big Pun, up on this fly shit |
| G. Rap the sole survivor with Truck, kills all the nonsense |
| With Marley doin the track it’s big, I mean jurassic |
| Like Coke this is a Classic, from the cradle, to the casket |
| Gonna blow from Bangkok to Brooklyn |
| Beijing to the Boogie Down, then back to my block |
| Cops follow the trail, that lead back to me |
| I’m waitin for 'em with 2 glocks, blow they balls off like 2Pac |
| Go clutch, the holy drawers, can’t save you |
| Still gonna be a holocaust, Truck TUrner show no remorse |
| Go 'head nigga, FLOSS~! |
| We gon’be around when the sun go down to rob you |
| Then gun you down, the fo'-fo'make a thunder sound |
| Rush in like, hug the ground I’ma count to 10 don’t turn around |
| You see my face? |
| I’ma blaze you |
| Lettin in off, another round, and another round |
| 'Til your family, put your underground |
| I told you kid, I lay you down |
| Spray you down, claim your town, Bronx bound |
| A team player don’t play around |
| Who am I? |
| Truck Turner, you’re learnin now |
| NO matter, where you FROM, I’m the arsonist, I burn it down |
| (Don't fuck with that boy; NEXT UP!) |
| Soy, con aqui (boricua — light up the mic for the symphony) |
| Whack rappers I humiliate like half a mic in The Source |
| Blast you right off of the stage and engrave a butcher knife in your corpse |
| What’chu writin is soft, I’m Pearl Harbor war |
| Run up on your small empire and spray your tires like you Armor All |
| Who wanna brawl with the Bronx finest |
| Talk your highness thicker force like our monster rhymers |
| Hate y’all B, I know you hate my stee' |
| Cause I’m the son of Tony you phony like fake ID |
| It’s the S-H-I-T, you can smell it Gun smoke makin you choke, take a toke and inhale it Now you can feel it (what?) Deep inside your lungs |
| Like hot pellets when you’re shot up, we supply the guns |
| Now where you from state your restin zone |
| I’m from the BX, B’lawn is where T.S. |
| call home, where KRS was born |
| Let it be known if I don’t get you watch for our God |
| Cause when you diss Kris, you disrespectin MY SQUAD |
| Put that on my mother, motherfucker |
| How DARE you disrespect, BITCH~! |
| Aiyyo we comin through with the fifth and glock, rippin shots |
| And hittin blocks, leavin kids rocked, put in a hidden box |
| Splittin tops, leave his face hot, dotted like chickenpox |
| Cursin cops with bloodhounds, sniffin socks, sniffin rocks |
| No trace, get your clique rubbed, your wigs plugged, the shit blood |
| Catch your big mug, topless just like a chick with big jugs |
| Up in the strip club, beer is a Bud, no coffee |
| Blowtorch like auto mechanics, you ordered to panic |
| She slaughter you bandits, your daughter be planted, inside the ground |
| More than the granite, my gunshots’ll make you orbit the planet |
| «Roots of Evil"peepin up all legal or illegal |
| The four-fours are lethal, cock back the gat to pop the wheelies like Knievel |
| Fire shots to rented Regals |
| Leave all your peoples with palsy in they cerebrals |
| Deadly as an addict’s needle, let automatics reap you |
| Sweep you, I’m sendin you to Lucifer to keep you |
| Heat you, nail you to the cross on top of the church’s steeple |
| Red dots cover your face like the measles |
| NEXT UP! |
| (I believe that’s me) |
| Aiyyo light up the mic for the symphony |
| Yo, yo, yo — BITCH ASS~! |
| Here’s a quick class |
| I’m the Blastmaster cause I blast and whip ass, this’ll be over quick fast |
| Keep mixin it, spittin it, bendin it Did it like juice with gin in it — ha ha JACKPOT, we winnin it You talk that shit, but you really illiterate |
| Read your shit like he he he, teh teh teh teh. |
| Sound out the word, connect the noun with the verb |
| Stick with b-b-b-bird-bird cause the battle’s absurd! |
| Don’t let these young kids go soup that ass up You’ll get smashed up, you gassed up, you puttin that ass up really? |
| I don’t even see you in the new milline-um |
| I see you like on VH1 with Milli Vanilli an’them |
| Talkin about what you used to have, your abusive dad |
| Oh it’s so so sad, cause I’m just so so death defyin, mesmerizin |
| Every time you say you dope that’s false advertisin, but it’s not surprisin |
| You lyin, you ain’t no battle hog |
| What you got one demo, against my 12 year catalogue? |
| (NIGGA) Back up~! |
| This is the Bronx in the house |
| Truck Turner, KRS without a doubt! |
| Now y’all rippin my damn microphone, down to nothin |
| Kool G. Rap, Big Punisher, my man Truck Turner |
| KRS-One, y’all never get on my damn microphone again |
| Y’all crazy! |
| … Get out of here, beat it! |