Slap Them Up

Tellin' it like it is, right about now D.J. Premier is in the

Motherfuckin' house and shit, ya know what I'm sayin'? But yo,

Yo Kris, run that shit, ya know what I'm sayin'? That, that shit,

My joint. Run that motherfucker... it's only right kid...

(Do it, do it, do it...)

Drop that bassline...

You want lyrics? We give ya lyrics. Check it out now, one time...

(Do it, do it, do it...)

When we come in all de dance 'nuff D.J.'s shut up, woy!

Gal! Will ya come slap dem up

When we come in all de dance 'nuff D.J.'s shut up, woy!

Ill Will, slap dem up

MC's get ate, get broken like a pretzel

And get dissed if they ever try to step to

They can't take a MC with loose lips

Talk a lotta shit Lyrics make bigger holes than hollow tips

Watch another rapper body get stiff

Just like in church, we pass the basket

As I preach over his casket

Fuck it, kick the body right over

And say "See ya, hmm... nice to know ya"

Got another rapper to see

Yo Kris, bust that ass If you're shiverin' get off the pot

Let the original rapper rock the spot

You stand there and jock, goin' This is absolutely ludicrous, what can you do to Kris

Chattin' foolishness, step along quick with that stupidness

It's me rippin' this for self, where else ya lookin'?

I got more rhymes than all the Jamaicans in Brooklyn

So beat it or be seated, Gee I'm mad undefeated

Young boy, you can't see me, run along and make pee-pee

I was rockin' rhymes when "La-Di-Da-Di" was a demo

Admit you been on my tip for years and just can't seem to let go

Go, go call your mother, tell her you wanna battle KRS quick

I bet the minute you get home you'll get your ass whipped

Crazy ill mad styles is what I give'em

Not a run-of-the-mill'em, I drill'em, I got ridiculous rhythm

None of my styles you can get with'em

Still um, will um, your crew come get some so I can kill'em

Well I roll by myself but don't let it fool ya

If I got beef my crew'll damn step to ya

We don't play no games, I'll come straight to your rest

Lift up your shirt and blast you in your chest

A fad doesn't fill the bill, but mad skills will

Don't let me have to kill you kid, god forbid still

Greed will lead your need to succeed

But your speed, your speech

Your outreach is a breach of what I teach

For lyrical styles you're a leech

If I was Spanish I'd say, ["You lie like a beech"]

Wow-wow-wow-wow, wow-wow-wow, wow-wow-wow...

Wow, for a amateur you really looked hard

But you're really a bitch, when you get it together

Call me, here's my card

Check the list: you lack breath control, mental behaviour

Lyrical talent, imagination and flavour

I got no time for amateur rhyme, you could be hurt

Thinkin' you're hard because you wear a gangsta T-Shirt

I'll smash your wanna-be ass in the deep dirt

Black, you'll come up dizzy sayin' "How da fuck he do dat?"

'Cause you're yappin' like you can't be reached

If your name ain't Arrested Development, well save your speech

Time to ill, I got mad skills to fill

Not a fake, I got more styles than Drake's got Tasty Cakes

Gotta be the best Gee, don't try to test me

You'll get jacked son, even if your name is not Jesse

Let's be up front when I meet ya

Peace, uh, I'm the motherfuckin' teacher

When we come in all de dance 'nuff D.J.'s shut up, woy!

Gal! Will ya come slap dem up

When we come in all de dance 'nuff D.J.'s shut up, woy!

Gal! Will ya come slap dem up, up, up, up, up...

(Do it, do it, do it...) x2

Yo... South Bronx, South South Bronx

South Bronx, South South... yo, Uptown

Brooklyn's in the house, lemme tell ya 'bout Staten Island

What about... Queens?