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HardC.O.R.E. Vol. 1 Issue 4
SECTION ONE -- 1
HardC.O.R.E. Vol. 1, Issue 4 3/28/93
Table of Contents
Section Contents Author
---- -------- ------
1 Contents
2 C.O.R.E. info
3 David J - Rap Is An Art EP
promotion dwarner@ucs.indiana.edu
4 R.Stone - Geto Boys juonsteve@bvc.edu
5 R.Stone - Ice T juonsteve@bvc.edu
6 Review - Lench Mob Alex Reed
7 Review - Geto Boys juonsteve@bvc.edu
8 Article - French Rap juonsteve@bvc.edu
9 Lyrics - I Get Wrecked Tim Dog & KRS-One
10 Closing
SECTION TWO -- 2
The C.O.R.E. creed
We at C.O.R.E. support underground hip-hop (none of that crossover
bullshucks). That means we also support the 1st Amendment and the right to
uncensored music.
I'm audi 5 to my doghouse!
"I got more rhymes than Madonna gets dick"
KRS-One : I Get Wreck
Asalaam Alaikum from MC Flash X
SECTION THREE -- 3
Advertisement Rap is an Art -- David J.
It's on.
It's never been on like this, either. This time, Blue Riddle is coming as
correct as they come.
Yours truly, David J., has just made BRP a legitimate business venture
right here in this non-hip hop town of Bloomington, Indiana. I've got the
license, I've got the tax numbers, and I've even got an account with the
full name "Blue Riddle Productions" on it. This is the first time I've
really had the guts to pull something together like this, and I wish I had
done it sooner -- like when I had more money.
I know some of you have been waiting a looooong time for me to finally put
together some form of the tracks I've done (i.e. "Rap Is An Art/Turn Up The
Microphone") on hard copy to send out to everyone. Well, this time I'm
going to do it. I'm going into a recording studio next weekend to put the
three songs I've got together so far (the two above and "Checkmate") on a
DAT and sending it out to get the tapes made up. The tape will feature all
three songs as vocal mixes (no instrumental or acappella this time, sorry),
and will be sent out as soon as I have the ducats to do it.
Unfortunately, this is where I need everyone's help. I only have $200 in
the BRP bank, half of which is going toward the studio time, the other half
covering only a small portion of what will pay for the tapes. It's a
1000-tape package for approximately $900-$950, which pretty much includes
everything. I would go with the vinyl, but 12" are way to expensive and
cumbersome to mail out to people. Also, I'm trying to do a fair amount of
business here in Bloomington as well (that is, if the tapes arrive in time),
and I don't want to limit the number of potential customers to simply those
with turntables -- the sad reality of a CD-driven society.
This is where I need everyone's help. What I plan to do here is to raise
the money to buy these tapes by selling the tapes in advance to everyone out
there on the computer underground. Those of you who help out with a
contribution to my little underground crusade will be getting your copy of
"The Rap Is An Art EP" in the mail once the copies are finished and ready to
go.
This is no ruse here, folks. This is a plea for money that would make PBS
jealous, as well as a chance to check out the flavor of a new hip hop
organization looking to get its own in 1993. If you would like to help me
out and purchase a tape in advance, here's the 411:
On a 3x5 notecard, write your name, postal mailing address and e-mail address
(if you have one). Make out a check or money order, made out to Blue Riddle
Productions, for one of the following amounts:
- Continental U.S.: $4.00 ($3 for the tape plus $1 postage & handling)
- Continental Americas: $5.00 ($3 for the tape plus extra postage)
- All other countries: $6.00 ($3 for the tape plus the airmail postage)
Send all of this to the following address: Blue Riddle Productions
404 Northlane Drive
Bloomington, IN 47404
If you just want to meet me somewhere in B-ton and just pay for the tape,
e-mail me and let me know. I'll be compiling a list of people to which I
will send the tapes based on the notecards I receive in the mail. For
those of you who have not heard the soundfiles of the songs on the EP at
the Sound Library I was supporting a while back, e-mail me and I'll get you
some instructions on how to access them.
I'm really counting on as many of you guys as I can to get this puppy off
the ground. With your help, Blue Riddle Productions can be more than just
a thoughtful tax write-off, but a quality underground producer of hip hop.
Thanks for your time and your support.
Because once again, it's on...
SECTION FOUR -- 4
Rolling Stone 3/18/93 p.27 (Reprinted w/ no permission)
(This and Section 5 go out to my homey MC... I hooked it up dis time!)
"Crooked Officer," a song from the Geto Boys' upcoming album, Til Death Do
Us Part, should get the group some attention. Sample lyrics:
Try and pull me over on a dark road
But I'll be damned if I don't grab my nine
And unload until every blue shirt turns red
You heard what I said
I want all you crooked motherfuckers dead
So you better start picking out your coffin, sir
Because I'm coming after your ass
...written by Michael Goldberg...
SECTION FIVE -- 5
Rolling Stone 4/1/93 p.51-52 (Reprinted w/ no permission)
(This review in no way reflects my views... I didn't think the album was
this good, but you all know that from my Chumpies post)
'Home Invasion', Ice-T
**** out of *****
Dead cops litter the nineteen tracks on 'Home Invasion' -- just in case you
thought that in the wake of his split from Time Warner, Ice-T was backing
down. Released on his own label [Rhyme Syndicate Records] and distributed
by Priority Records, the album is a furious declaration of independence; as
he says, "We always knew it was gonna come to this point sooner or later."
The mood is frank, realistic and uncompromising, born of the cold knowldege
that as Run-D.M.C. put it years ago, "It's like that/And that's the way it
is."
"I own my own label, put my own shit out," Ice raps on "It's On,"
Home Invasion's first song, "so no one tells me what the fuck to talk
about." "It's On" was a last-minute addition to Home Invasion. A
commentary on Ice's grim, determined frame of mind after the "Cop Killer"
debacle, it's one of the most arresting tracks he's ever recorded. Over an
itchy guitar figure, an eerie keyboard sample and relentless gunfire, Ice
tears off stacatto lines, insisting that --
'You're best to let me rap
Ice back on the streets? You don't want that
Cause I'll break ill
And you'll really have to body-count the cops I'll kill
It's on.'
The voice of "It's On" is the voice of undeniable experience, and for all
its topical immediacy and outrageous gangbanging, Home Invasion is a
curiously mature work, the sort of album you could make only after fully
establishing a succesful, multifaceted career. Having penetrated deep into
the white community, become a movie star and ventured into thrash rock with
his band Body Count, Ice-T is now making a back-to-basics roots move,
issuing a call to "real motherfuckers" of whatever color. Its bass tracks
cranked up far into the red zone, Home Invasion is made to boom out of
Jeeps and blasters, to solidify Ice's street cred, to crush any doubters
among the hard-core.
Prominent among Ice-T's targets are that noted defender of corporate
morality Charlton Heston ("I might cut his head off") and rappers who cross
over to pop. Reporters who criticize him are gleefully blow away - should
journalists start harrassing Priority's executives? And perhaps most
significant of all, on "Watch the Ice Break," upstart rappers nipping at
Ice-T's heels get a stern history lesson:
'In case you forgot, I invented this gangsta shit
You wanna step to me, new jack? Walk
Come back in five LPs, then we can talk
You're just new, kid -- you got a hit out
In interviews you talk a lot of shit out
You got paid, you really made out
You went broke when your one jam played out.'
Beyond conventional rap boasting, Ice-T seems to understand that he has
earned the right to look past the streets and take himself as the subject,
which he does to chilling effect on "That's How I'm Livin'." A piano
drones, a flute phrase drops, and a bone-dry percussion patters beats
hypnotically as Ice-T intones his life story in virtual spoken-word style.
The tale is tense and affecting --
'I speak on this with hesitation
Even though we're past the statute of limitations'
-- as introspective and personal a track as rap has ever seen.
Unfortunately, not everything on Home Invasion rises to this level -- and
at close to eighty minutes, it would have been astounding if the album had
maintained that standard. On "Pimp Behind the Wheels," Ice-T takes over
the turntables and pass the mike to his DJ, Evil E, for a track that's fun
but inessential. Ice also gives over the nearly five minutes of "Funky
Gribsta" to Grib, a fourteen year-old female rapper; her caterwauling is
unlistenable. And Brother Marquis from the 2 Live Crew shows up for the
pointless, if guiltily pleasurable, bitch catalog, "99 Problems."
Home Invasion goes out on a note of exterme strength, though. On "Message
to the Soldier," and atmospheric midtempo track spiked by a jazzy saxophone
sample, Ice-T locls a first-rate definition of hard-core rap and its
cultural meaning:
'But rap hit the streets
Black rage amplified over dope beats
Now they wanna shut us down
And they don't fuck around
Check the history books, son
Black leaders die young
They tell us that out words are scary
They're revolutionary.'
Ice-T knows that -- to use his phrase -- he's "trapped in a paradox." If
he hadn't attracted a large audience among young whites, he would still be
a Warner Brothers recording artist -- even though his potential to pull
that audience is what got him on the label in the first place. To his
credit, he hasn't distanced himself from those fans -- in fact, he's
embraced them. Home Invasion's title track describes this original
gangsta's crime as stealing America's children, "so they know the noise you
talk is lies."
As militant as Home Invasion is, as fully as it is the product of an artist
under siege, it is still driven by an imagined ideal of racial harmony.
Track after track -- "Home Invasion", "Gotta Lotta Love" and, despite its
title, "Racewar" -- asserts that. It's a harmony in which people are
judged not by their color but by their willingness to treat others with
respect. That's the vision on which America claims to have been founded
but that it never has come close to acheiving. It's also what makes Time
Warner's refusal to stand behind Ice-T so shamneful and what makes his work
so admirable and important.
SECTION SIX -- 6
Review: Da Lench Mob -- Guerillas in tha Mist
By LX
Rating: *** out of *****
Summary: Very Ice Cube-esque, very racist, with trck quality ranging from
downright weak to dope enough to have me hittin' rewind all afternoon.
Capital Punishment in America: A nice opening documentary groove describing
public executions, capital punishment and racist crimes.
Buck tha Devil: This song sounds like Ice Cube all the way- the flow, the
beat the lyrics. A racist song, with fair rhyming in it. Nothing to wet
your pants over.
Lost in tha System: Nice track -- dissin' the police, judicial system, the
government. The beat almost sounds like something by Public Enemy. J-Dee
comes off real smooth on this.
You and Your Heroes: Phat beat, Shorty doesn't flow very well in this one,
neither does J-Dee. The lyrics are rather racist, but it's also very
unintelligent racist complaining compared to something like Escape From
Babylon, by Paris. The beat is really the only strong part of this song.
All on my Nut Sac: A groove that features Ice Cube, practically singing.
Again, an unintelligent track simply that follows an argument between two
people -- Ice Cube and J-Dee. The beat is a little annoying, and the backup
singers wacken it more. With the exception of the best line on the whole
album, "A tisket, a tasket now look who's in the casket, I knew I'd get
your ass one day, you scantless bastard," it's not a great track.
Guerillas in tha Mist: Let's just say that this is the reason I chose to
review this album, better yet, this is the reason I listen to hip-hop. The
dopest track on the album by light-years. Sure it's just brag-rap, but the
crazy phat beat and flow that cuts closer than Gilette could ever makes up
for the lack of political content. The whole crew appears on this one --
Ice Cube, J-Dee, Shorty and T-Bone, all coming correct. Damn.
Lench Mob Also in tha Group: Just an instrumental sample-fest made to take
up space on the album. Nothin' exceptional in the least bit.
Ain't Got No Class: B-Real appears on this but doesn't really do anything,
just repeat the same thing over and over: "Ain't got no class," in his
nasal voice. Good message in the song, but wack flow and beat.
Freedom Got an A.K.: The beat is ok, the lyrical content is that of an
immature nine- year-old with an obsession with guns, the flow is average.
Need I say more?
Ankle Blues: A real phat groove with slightly above average flow, but nice
content. A lot of the swearing is unnecessary, the beat overuses the
sustaining vibes, but a smooth track.
Who Ya Gonna Shoot Wit' Dat: The flow is real nice, the lyric is average,
and the beat is dope at first, but annoyingly repetitive after a while.
Mature message, immature lyric.
Lord Have Mercy: Is it just me or was this on, "Please Don't Hurt 'Em,
Hammer?" Good message, but shit flow, shit lyric, shit beat.
Inside tha Head of a Black Man: Another instrumental with the same beat as
Capital Punishment. Some nice samples, but they overdid they screaming a
little much.
Section 7 -- Seven
Review: Geto Boys -- Til Death Do Us Part
By MC Flash X
Review scale :
6. Phat - Ten years from now this shit'll still be so dope!
5. Funky - Ownership is the difference between a mack and a mark
4. Fine - If your pockets are fat get it, but don't panic if you don't
3. Fair - It has some potential hits, and at least it doesn't stink
2. Flat - Somebody explain to me why this person even tried?!
1. Flunk - The ultimate diss... PM Dawn sounded better
This LP gets a very definite Funky rating. The Geto Boys seem to keep
getting funkier, more political, and more relevant. Proof of which is the
opening track, 'Intro', which features a funky guitar riff and the voice of
the Rap-a-Lot president, known on this track as 'Little J'. Very rapumentary,
with no flow whatevah, but still very dope.
'Yeah this Little J and the Geto Boys in this mother once again.
And we kicked the door in just like I told ya we would in '91 and '92.
But you know there's a lot of people mad about our success.
Such as the D.E.A., I.R.S.,
And other wicked people, in high places.'
Little J kicks the hard and true reality, and his references to the D.E.A.
are on target, especially when I found out what he meant by seeing how he
got set-up in the new issue of The Source. But anyway, on to the first
song, 'G.E.T.O.' This song kicks it hard and wicked like you know the Boys
can do it, but it should've been named 'Here It Comes Fool'
'Now here comes motherfucker die-hard to the end
Mr. Mr. Scarface, not your ordinary dope man
On the farilla my nigga, I'ma born killer
Lettin my nuts hang, and I gives a fuck if ya big...'
As usual, Scarface rips the shit out the frame, with his dope gangstaism.
He even gives Willie D props. But he's not soloing on this cut... Big Mike
and Bushwick Bill rip the shit up too. Big Mike --
'G plus E plus T plus O, Geto Boys run shit
In ninety-three but you don't hear me though
Huh, breakin off niggaz who bother to
Fuck around with Texas, thinkin we ain't nothin but barbecue'
And Bushwick --
'Kickin that G shit Ever-So-Cleer
5th Ward steady coming hard every fuckin year'
Pure ghetto dope. You might like the next song, 'It Ain't Shit', but I
thought it was fairly average. Gets a fine at best
'Cause I remember back when the nigga had green
Seeing him at the pipes now the man's just a dope fiend'
Just a tale of ghetto reality, over a beat that doesn't work very well.
Spice 1's 'Welcome to the Ghetto' was better. But this is one of the few
weak spots... it is immediately set off by the intense 'Crooked Officer'
Since the reprinted Rolling Stone article had the lyrics from this song,
ther isn't much need to elaborate on that point. Suffice it to say that
this song is 'Phat', the phattest cut on the LP.
Next up is 'No Nuts No Glory', a chance for Big Mike to shine on his own.
'(Big Mike how ya livin)
I've been sellin out the same dope house since the age of sixteen
Shufflin crack like cards to these drugged out dope fiends
Rock after motherfuckin rock, seein cop after motherfuckin cop
on the block.'
A very dope track, with Big Mike slow smoothed out pimp flow adding to the
track and making it shine. B.M. takes no shorts, he just tells it like it
is.
Then comes 'Six Feet Deep', another 'Dead Homiez/Lord Have Mercy' type
track. It works very well on this cut, with some mourning wailful guitar
samples and a smooth, reminesceful beat. What can I say? Three 'phat'
cuts all inna row.
'Especially my boys who passed away, back in ninety-two
Best believe that all the boys in the hoods got love for you
Wherever we go, wherever we be, we be thinkin
Of how we hung in the clubs smokin and drinkin'
Very heartfelt raps by all the members, no bullshit R&B crossover on this
one. The next track is a complete switch-up though. 'Murder Avenue' kicks
some tales of bloody revenge on those who stood in the way of the Geto
Boys, courtesy of Bushwick Bill.
'Did you know that a premature ejaculation is an imcomplete thought?
That means you have an incomplete nut...
Pretty as a picture, her name was Rosie
Had to kill the bitch cause she was gettin too fuckin nosy
A school ho, she attended U of H
A law student, who was lookin for a fuckin case'
Why spoil it? Find out for yourself why Bushwick says, 'This track was
inspired by Jeffrey Dahmer... you know the drama.' Definetly funky, if not
gruesomely so. At leat he doesn't say he's Chuckie at any point in the
song.
Now flip the tape and watch Scarface flip the script onna song called
'Raise Up', which once again was misnamed... it should've been 'Raise Up
Bitch'.
'The bigger the nigga, the bigger the cap
The bigger the bullet, the bigger the fuckin gat
So step up with that ho shit
And i'ma empty the whole clip'
The track features dope shifts of pitch by the instrumental mid verse and a
funky awesome bassline. For whatever reason the Geto Boys can't stop
breakin off hits... this makes it four inna row.
And 'Murder After Midnight' keeps it rolling right on to five.
'Niggaz bustin caps on a Sunday
I'm ridin through the punk with my white seats bloody
Thinkin to myself, what the fuck is this
I grab my motherfuckin shit, load the clip, and then I git
The extra hollow points out the box in the back seat
I can't believe these motherfuckers tried to X me'
Not to say that Willie D wasn't good, but Big Mike more than takes his
place and increases the lyrical and ferocious power of the Boys. This song
proves it, and the other Boys get smooth and wicked as well.
The streak finally ends with 'Straight Gangstatism'. This tape might have
pulled a 6 outta 6, but this is one of those songs that bug the hell outta
me. A 'Fair' cut, well below the Geto Boys average. I refuse to even
quote from it, except to say that the chorus features someone saying
'Really doe' a hundred fuckin million times in the world's most annoying
blunted voice.
But 'Cereal Killer' brings it right back to that 'Other Level'. Listening
to this song will remind you of LL Cool J's 'Milky Cereal'. I'm almost
surprised they didn't sample it. Actually it sounds like a cross between
that and 'Gangsta Fairytale'.
'Once upon a time at the Honeycomb hideout
Sugar Bear and Mikey set alone, gettin fried out
Mikey walked in with this nigga named Rice Grain
Pulled out a buck, and conjured up a dice game...'
Check it out... it is very metaphorically phat, and another 'Phat' cut.
The next one is another song I refuse to quote, 'This Dick's For You'. It
soundz like R&B except the Boys ruff it up a little... another only 'Fair'
cut which kills the chance for calling this tape awesome from beginning to
end.
'Street Life' should be familiar to all, except it is hooked up with a
different track than the one used in 'South Central'. Scarface kicks
ghetto reality again, and it works well, but I like the original track
better. The voice talking over the chorus also detracts, rather than
improving it.
'Never knew no better cause my mommy never taught me
Goin out to get the shit that mommy never bought me
Only ten years old and I can't stay away from trouble
But you don't give a fuck cause you ain't never had to sruggle'
I would call it a 'Fine' cut, but it can't compare with the awesomly funky
posse cut 'Bring It On' The whole Rap-A-Lot family gets large on this one.
Here's a sample of one of my favorite verses, Ganksta Nip's psycho rap.
'A weed smokin motherfucker, plus I kick doobies
I'm the one who told that nigga to go insane and act loonie
Ganksta Nip, is fuckin ya daughter G
I wake up every morning screaming SOMEBODY SLAUGHTER ME
Step in my path, your ass is void
Cause I'm a aerodynamic satanic schizophrenic...'
Et cetera, and then Little J kicks the 'Outro' over the same beat.
This a a very good tape. Even if you aren't a fan of the Geto Boys, you
would like this tape... it has something for everybody, and showcases the
diversity and funkiness of the Geto Boys. Pick it up wid da quickness!
Section 8 -- Eight
Article : Alors, Homeboys
Copied from Request, April '93, p.8, with no permission
(This one goes out with a shot to Yvan! Word up!)
Rap music is not another flashy American export. It has slowly infiltrated
French culture through the surburban Saint Ouen or Clignacourt in the north
of Paris. The bourgeoisie avoid them as their American counterparts do the
Bronx and South Central. These are the French ghettos, the mean streets,
where the members of the rap group Orginal M.C. were born.
Sofaine Ghaba (Master K), Fabrice Atchinak (Turn B), Willy Delbe (Chilly
Purple Willie), and Adamson Faye (A.D.A.M.S.) came to New York to get back
to rap's roots. They are shopping for an American label and just plain
shopping, single-handedly saving the U.S. garment industry. And they love
to model their new clothes because no one pays them any mind. "In France",
they say, "the police hassle you if you're dressed like a rapper."
Rap music isn't taken seriously in homogenous France. The older generation
finds the rap spirit threatening; they don't like their young people
criticizing the country. But Ghaba is merely putting pictures on a wall.
Drugs, racism, unemploymeny, and hypocritical politicians aren't solely
American problems.
Original M.C. confronts such issues with a positive message and Gallic
irony. Their sound reflects the France of the 21st century, a melting pot
of peopls and ideas. Edith Piaf isn't samples; instead one hears the
strains of African, Arabnic, and Oriental music, with snatches of John
Coltrane and Miles Davis, reminding us of another American musical export
that sneaked into French civilaztion through the ports of Marseilles and
the roughneck suburbs of Paris.
Section 9 -- Nine
Lyrics -- I Get Wreck, by Tim Dog and KRS-One
(This goes out wid a shout to Hotsauce, and to T-Dub who hooked me up!)
Intro:
KRS One : Pop pop pop pop!
KRS One : Go uptown, go uptown, go uptown, go uptown (in the background)
(repeats while Tim Dog is speaking)
Tim Dog : Yeahhhh, ha hah, you have been warned
The Boogie Down boys are gonna get ya
KRS One : That's right boye, you are now jammin to the sounds of the Boogie
Down
Hit em like this, hoooooooo
Chorus: Tim Dog (KRS-One in parenthesis)
Yeah, yeah, yeah, can I get a yes (yes)
Can I get another one, yes (yes)
Do I get wreck and get respect (yes)
Lyrically I can get wreck (yes), ha hah
Well can I get a ho (ho)
Can I get another one, ho (ho)
Do I get wreck at any show (ho)
Lyrically I got the flow (ho), there ya go
Verse One: KRS-One
What does KRS and Tim Dog have in common
We both hate corny ass soft commercial rhymin'
I don't sound like Phyllis Simon or the Wynans
I rock Central Park but do not mistake me for Paul Simon
I can't hear nothin but rap, do not force me
I can't hear Fred Astaire, Cher, Tommy Dorsey you lost me
Pure hip-hop rhymes beats I seek
Singers dressed like rappers kickin' love songs you can keep
Give me the boom bap when I kick my rap
No need for background singers and dancers, fuck all that
What you see you see, what you hear you hear
When you cheer and you cheer, I'm every fresh MC's nightmare
The instrumental is fundamentally essential
When I practice I get sharp like a pencil
But the pencil's made of oak, so don't provoke
You'll get broke, whaddya take me for a joke?
I'm radical, mathematical if I have static I'll
Pick up the mic or automatic either way I won't have it
I cover the whole gamut
Mic I'll rag it leaving with your ass out like a faggot
This is a losing battle. Your like cattle
The sound of my name KRS makes your tail waggle
Better yet you're a snake so it rattles
I'll dice you up like an apple, smash you with a Snapple.
I'm not fad, the one you wanna battle that bad
Off the skin of your ass I'll make a shoulder bag
I bring the blade all around
By the time I'm done you'll be $2.99 a pound
Verse Two: Tim Dog
Coming from the butcher shop
Fuck with KRS and the Dog and get chopped
Chopped, say stopped, STOP! say stop, STOP!
Listen to the hip-hop while others drip-drop
Till they hit the tip-top now it's time to get props
Wack MC's I just tax
I'll eat tracks shit it out with Ex-Lax
Bitch ass niggaz step aside
Tenderoni rappers, means your homicide
Toyin' non-believers, here's the genoside
Shit aside, come inside, you're goin on a murder ride
I'm energetical theoretical copastetical alphabetical
Hypothetical yeah that is cool, no I'm not a fool
Takin you to school, don't be late for school, fool
I'm fuckin your girl while your ass in school
Fool, wipe off the drool, cause I'm too cool
I'm the man with lyrics that jam
Kickin MC's in the face like Van Damme
Shazam, hot damn, thank you ma'am
Don't eat Spam or no types of ham
You thought I fell off? You're smokin somethin
You thought I was soft? You on dope or somethin
You must be on a can of dope and dog food
You actin real rude, don'tcha know I'm Tim Dog dude?
So go ahead and flex, if you got next
But when I get the mic I get wreck
So come on, come on, come on, come on
I'll eat that ass that's word is born
Rarrrrrgh!
Chorus: Tim Dog (KRS-One in parenthesis)
Can I get a yes (yes)
Can I get another one, yes (yes)
Do I get wreck and get respect (yes)
Are you the K the K the R the S (ohhh yes)
Well can I get a ho (ho)
Can I get another one, ho (ho)
Do I get wreck at any show (ho)
Lyrically I got the flow (ho), there ya go
Verse Three: KRS-One
Now don't say nuttin while I'm wreckin ya
Causin hysteria been in more battles than America
Rap messanger, comin in quick I pick up the mizick and watch em stagger
Rip another verse and watch his body splatter
Whether you like me or not don't matter, Kris is not a actor
I'll burn your favorite rapper and leave him in stitches
Weak bitches, real renegade rap rebels rip rhymes
Ferociously, which one of these pussy MC's can go at me?
So if you wish to play me like a farmer
I get calmer, chop ya ass up like Jeffrey Dahmer
My pyschopathic fantastic pathic puts you in a casket
On top of that, you can get your ass kicked quick.
Awww shit, I'm lyrically fit and physically built like a brick.
And I got more rhymes than Madonna gets dick
And I'm the lyrical lunatic, that flips all shit with the quickness
Yo I get heated like cough menthalyptus now
The microphone I must feel it I must touch it up
Kris One and Tim Dog's come to fuck it up
Evidentally I bust shots till the glock is empty
No safety, pull the trigger tip don't try to chase me
Down, chase the sound you must be buggin
This is Boogie Down, Boogie Down, Boogie Down Boogie Down
Boogie Down Produc-tions
Jump around be the one is the function
Tim Dog, why don't you show em a little somethin
Verse Four : Tim Dog
Baby baby um, maybe maybe um
You better run, cause you know I have a gun
Bang bang boogie, up jump the boogie
Take that bullshit rap down the street
A skippedy be bop be bop, Scooby Doo
That bullshit's not me, that bullshit is you
I come correct, get much respect
Do some homina homina shit, and still get wreck
Cause I'm the Dog, the muthafuckin Dog ya hear
I'm the Dog, the muthafuckin Dog ya hear
MC's come close but never could get near
Cause I just smash, throw MC's through glass
Take his cash, whip his ass, and do a yard dash
So take your ass home, write a poem
And when you get nice, use the god damn phone
Cause I get buckwild, do some ole freestyle
And beat ya down with the turnstile
Doggie doggie bo boggie fanana fanna fo foggie
Me mi mo moggie, doggie
Rappers goin platinum doin this bullshit
I do the same shit, and make a big hit
Cause if you don't like my lyrical flow
I gotta make dough, don'tcha know, ya little ho-
Mo- sexual I bet you will
Be on the dick if it turns into a hit
But that type of shit is jumpin the fuck off
So I do the same, now I'm comin off
So don't get upset if you can't get lyrical respect
Don't get mad, get wreck
Closing : Tim Dog
Yeahhh, this track has been dedicated, to real hip-hop
The lyrics, peace to all the true hip-hop followers out there
Peace to the Zulu Nation
Peace to Willie D and the Boogie Down Production posse
And peace to the South Bronx, peace! (echoes)
Section 10 -- Ten
Peace to all the readers of HardC.O.R.E., and keep on the lookout for
bigger and brighter things in our future. Peace yo!
