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KRS-OneKRS-One 

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KRS-One

Lawrence Krisna Parker (born August 20, 1965), better known by his stage names KRS-One (a backronym for Knowledge Reigns Supreme Over Nearly Everyone), and Teacha, is an American rapper of Jamaican descent. At the 2008 BET Awards, KRS-One was the recipient of the Lifetime Achievement Award for all his work and effort towards the Stop the Violence Movement as well as the overall pioneering of hip hop music and culture. more »

Year:

2010

4:03

122 Views

Playlists:

#2

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Blastmaster Kris, I don't talk ish.
Expand your consciousness and dismiss foolishness.
No one is new to this or new to Kris.
In hip-hop's atomic structure I am the nucleus.
That is the center of the group we, us.
They, them, you, every squad, every massive, every crew.
Dental floss is lost when a true rapper jumps off.
The cash is incidental, but not mental distract you off course.
The style that I am kickin' is like chicken.
It will be bitten, rewritten, then performed for a twenty-five dollar admission;
Reviewed in The Source.
You will listen, then find somethin' missin' of course... it's skills;
That's what you're fishin' for, it's lost.
I'm gettin' too explicit; the track jingles.
I won't do a wack album, then remix it for my single.
Kickin' rhymes till I wrinkle, and my brown eyes twinkle.
God called hip-hop for the nine-cinco.

Tasty like a soufflé french croisant on Tuesday.
Rappers be boo-tay.
Goo-fy, that's how they crew stay;
Bitin' whatever you say to boost they ego.
We know the steelo; your whole character is foul.
Makes me want to shoot a free throw; blaow!
From the git go, no, get go, my flow hits low.
Wherever all the dope shit go; there's where my shit go.
Bee-dee-bee-bo, skank, I think;
Self with ya groups, everyone else, and the bank.
Others like to bring the shottie to the party;
I bring knowledge of self; you cure the mind; you cure the body.
Some rappers like to come to the party hopin' to leave with somebody.
Check, I come with skills, and I leave with your motherfuckin' respect.
Ahh yeah... so check, uh!

New types of verbal hip-hop I bring.
When you know you can sing, boy, you know you can sing.
I do not clutter up the airwaves with stacks of useless facts.
MC's trying to be macks, but acts like ignorant blacks;
Freak that, I'll snap your back as it cracks.
You will experience loss or lack of balance.
Stop the violence; fry from week to week like an allowance.
All of you are cowards; hiding behind the mask of MC.
I remember, thinkin' back to eighty-three;
No video; no you had to be a real, live, MC.
Now you younguns grow up buggin' any new jock you're huggin'
Weak production; let me tell you somethin'.
Any MC can battle for glory,
But to kick a dope rhyme to wake up your people's another story.
Act like you never saw me,
'Cause when it comes to lyrics I'm in a different category.

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