Ruff Ruff

[KRS-One] * voice echoing* Think you dope? Want this title? Then you better come step up or step OFF! [Freddie Foxxx] Yo check this out, all jokes aside Let's get busy [KRS-One] Word! Blastmaster KRS-One in the house Hah, everybody for some reason wanna be a gangsta You don't know NUTTIN about bein no GANGSTA [Freddie Foxxx] Worrrrrrrd up! Aiyyo check this out This is Freddie F-O-X-X-X And guess what's next [KRS-One] Every posse wan fi chat, they wan fi chat, they wan fi chat Every posse wan fi chat, but ju knows dem is wack Every posse wan fi chat, they wan fi chat, they wan fi chat Every posse wan fi chat, but ju knows dem is wack Every posse wan fi chat, but ju knows dem is wack They jump pon the mic, an' wan fi do it like dat But ahh, now dis a KRS, me nah takes dat When me open up to work, I put a cape on me back Then me, FLY ALL AROUND THE EMCEE WORLD KRS, the Artical, is not to be [*changes from patois*] Fucked with, ? with, or tampered with Don't give a fuck if you wanna riff But when you say Kris, already derivative of Kris My eyebrows lift and that ass I get with (HUH) As a matter of fact, I attack, hijack Set back, your career, like a quarterback That broke his back, my tongue is like a bat Your eye'll get black, you'll need an icepack (RRRRRUFF!) I'm all that, come with your whole pack You'll be prayin to the God of Isaac So Freddie Foxxx, it's time to get tough [uh-huh] Just, get on the mic and get RUFF, RUFF [Freddie Foxxx] Listen as I flex, cause I'm about to rip up shop It's the return of the hip-hop master, Freddie the Foxxx (Bo!) Rappers that see me, don't even speak, just walk Cause I'm the maddest nigga in New York (hah!) I see a rapper in the crowd that I don't like I wanna fight, so when I drop the mic I'mma jump off the stage, bumrush your crowd to wimps (suckers) that wanna be pimps I heard it said that a pimp'll sell his ass If his ho won't, but Freddie Foxxx don't Cover your chest G, you better wear a bulletproof vest see Cause I'm about to leave this place a motherfuckin mess Open hearts on the floor as I explore Rappers that wanted to be more than number four Number one's a hard spot; either you fight Or get shot, so this is what I got (BO!) Three Tec-9's, my uzi, ten grenades, my razor blades And I aim to get PAID! So who wanna step to this, don't come soft Cause I'mma straight up knock niggas off (POM! POM!) And when the cops come to get me I'mma take a dead body, and bout ten cops with me I'm sick and tired of hearin rappers talk smack About who's nice, and who's whack, MOTHERFUCK THAT They know my style, and my rep, every stage That I stepped on - I was the rapper they slept on But y'all rappers keep sleepin - cause when I plant Bombs in your house, I'mma wake you up and punch you In your motherfuckin mouth, knock your wife out Take your sons to safety, cause they're just kids And I wanna raise em to face me And when they get a little bigga I'mma mop them little niggas, and put their fingerprints On the trigger -- double homicide, call the vice Another rapper and his family with no life Yeah you're Mr. Tough and, you're full of stuff and And Freddie Foxxx caught you bluffin I got you in my torture chamber and you scream Oh God damn, it's like _Silence of the Lambs_ But I don't mangle em and eat em I take MC's to the war zone, and there I defeat em It gets much worse, with every verse As the F-R-E-D-D-I-E F-O-X-X-X, HURTS! Punishes, stomps, smashes, crushes, maims You suckers know my name! Aiyyo Kris! I'm rhymin long enough (say what?) Get on the mic and get RUFF, RUFF [KRS-One] This is the year that I go all out (why?) Edutainment's what I'm all about (and) I don't eat franks with the sauerkraut (cause) Because I don't eat pork from the tail to the snout (well kick it) Get on down, to the hip hip hop Before I start, peace to Scott LaRock! (word) Now let me drop the style that has action Cause many MC's don't believe they're rappin They're lost, crazy mixed-up in their identity This is not, what hip-hop is meant to be (word up) I come unique, I can't be beat, hardcore street For the kids, with a hundred-and-fifty on their feet (kick it) I don't compete, I defeat and delete ya Then critique ya, all MC's retreat, HERE COMES THE T'CHA Chewin suckers like Smuckers Hittin on, sittin on, shittin on, flippin on motherfuckers Yeah, I'm like the movie _Aliens_ I hide inside your right hand man, when you think you got me BAM! My head comes out your chest A mutilated mess of nastyness Chunks of bloody flesh, yes KRS on the slaughter Specialize in instant rhyme style, you simply add water Evian, or Poland Spring, then RING-DING-DING, DING-DING-DING-DING Back in the days, I wrote +South Bronx+ The Juice Crew got stomped, lick two shot POM! POM! Really it was Magic's fault Always wanna diss somebody, he got put to a halt It's wack, when a sucker DJ babbles on Soupin up MC's to battle on song That's wrong, but in any event, I drop the classic In 1992 the original it ain't plastic Everybody know, BDP, is fantastic, burn like acid Credit card plastic, stretch like elastic Love and respect is the TACTIC Bam! In your motherfuckin face KRS in the place I never liked listening to bitches and hoes anyway (Fi-YAH!) [Freddie Foxxx] Well you know I like hoes, cause I'm a mack But I don't like the wack tracks, youknowhatI'msayin? And for all your suckers out there That underestimate the militant mack, get the BO-ZACK You know what I mean? (Word) Word! [KRS-One] You know why? Every posse wan fi chat, they wan fi chat, they wan fi chat Every posse wan fi chat, but ya knows dey is wack Every posse wan fi chat, they wan fi chat, you know dem a wack Every posse wan fi chat, but ya knows dey is wack [Freddie Foxxx] Yes.. fresh.. for nineteen-ninety-two you suckers * echoes * [KRS-One] Motherfuckers! Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! * echoes to fade *