Ruff Ruff

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Boogie Down Productions

Boogie Down Productions was a hip hop group that was originally composed of KRS-One, D-Nice, and DJ Scott La Rock. DJ Scott La Rock was murdered on August 27, 1987, months after the release of BDP's debut album, Criminal Minded. The name of the group, Boogie Down, derives from a nickname for the South Bronx section of The Bronx, one of the five boroughs of New York City. The group pioneered the fusion of dancehall reggae and hip hop music and their debut LP Criminal Minded contained frank descriptions of life in the South Bronx of the late 1980s thus setting the stage for what would eventually become gangsta rap. more »


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featuring Freddie Foxxx 

[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 want to 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 


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 


KRS, the article, is not to be [*changes from patois*] 

fucked with, ? with, or tampered with 

Don't give a f*ck if you want to 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] 

Soon 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 want to fight, so when I drop the mic 

I'ma jump off the stage, bumrush your crowd to whip 

(suckers) that want to be pimps 

How I heard it said that a pimp'll sell his ass 

if his hoe 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 want to step to this, don't come soft 

Cause I'ma straight up knock niggaz off (POM! POM!) 

And when the cops come to get me 

I'ma take a dead body, and bop 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 they plant 

bombs in your house, I'ma 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 want to raise em to face me 

And when they get a little bigga 

I'ma MARK them little niggaz, 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-are-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 


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, I pull the string then 


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 want to 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 


[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! 


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 * 


Motherfuckers! Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! * echoes to fade *

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Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

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