**** Right now
This is one penny
You walk down the street and get jumped
We stood up for the South Bronx
'Cause that's just what
And I'll jump up to attack one
From the Boogie Down
'Cause to me that's suicide
Of course
Huh, but they all just wick-wick-wack
Yo, cause I'm a teacher
I'm brown
'Cause no one can defeat me
I'll get a pen, a pencil, a marker
And you play the target
Funky, funky, funky, funky, funky hit records
The lecture is conducted
A lot of suckas with colorful names
Or should I say, 'Start this'
A lot of games
Broken down to his very last compound
Some type of entity
Productions
How many mc's must get dissed
Like all my brothas
Pick the punk
Cause we all make dollars
I'll be back
I'm that
See I'm tellin'
They get the album
To take KRS-One's title
Many artists got to learn
It's my philosophy
I just laughed
A lot of suckas would like to forget me
And learn to earn respect
Tryin' to show how black people are walkin
But for now just seckle
It ain't about money
This selection number two
If you were to rule
About hip hop
This is just one style
KRS, BDP again
I believe that you should get loose
And what it meant to DJ Scot La Rock
Beside my brother
But they can't
I'm not flammable
And it lacks
No one would get along
And everybody's gonna wanna dis you
But they're buggin
A lot of mc's like to use the word
But I don't walk this way to portray
Is 'My Philosophy'
I'm so-and-so
Of new concepts at their hardest
When some clown jumps up to get beat down
Me or Scot La Rock
Will all be explained
The king or the teacher
And every sucka mc
'Cause like a champ
Self-murder
Is made up of teachers
Soften, dilute
Kenny Parker
On the mic
I have got a record
It's my philosophy
To them I'm like an idol
So yo, what's up
I don't play around
In everybody's rhyme
Over a certain industry
It's not about a salary
'Cause it's about time
Yo, who is more dramatical
And only tend
It's all about reality
You know it's me
Why destruction is a game
Everyone saw me on the last album cover
That's why
My posse from the Bronx is thick
I'm not white or red or black
I know that they are on the tip
And most are never understood
They wanna mention me?
Had a response
We're criminal minded
Or chicken or turkey or hamburger
Before somebody says, 'Don't f*** with Kris!'
And start sweatin'
'Cause everyone'd be singing for the king
You got to have style
I just produce, create, innovate on a higher level
My other brother I.C.U
We walk correctly
Take it home
Some mc's be talkin' and talkin'
Right up to your face and dis you
So please stop burnin'
Others say their bad
My brother's name is Kenny
See how it sound?
It's me again
'Cause the company is sellin' it
No more than four minutes
Like me
I get fed up
In fact, I'm kind of rational
Is much darker
I walk with my head up
Let me tell you somethin' now
You all know my name so I guess I'll just start it
Am I wrong?
The white one or the black one
I am an artist
Why? well it's simple
KRS-One is just the guy to lead a crew
I'll play the nine
Many people had the nerve to think we would end the trend
Get robbed, get dropped
See I'm not insane
Or rather mention us
Creativity and intelligence
Verse three
DRAMATICAL
You think we care?
But they can get bust
Something far from a lover
Number one
Or even wish that we'd
I don't burn
Now when some act in rap
Like a piggy bank
First-hand
Eatin' chicken and watermelon
Let us get back to what we call hip hop
Would be in misery
And you can tell by the bodies that are left around
Kings just rule
Holding a pistol
This one, that one
A vegetarian
To them it's kind of vital
Scot La Rock
But they don't care
Or reinforce
S-C-O-T
A little unrational
And Scot La Rock
When I be asking
Fresh for '88
When you rhyme like a soft punk
And Scot is a scholar
And we're real live
Boogie Down Productions
From the mic into the speaker
From the intelligent
I haven't come to tell you I have juice
Verse two
Is kind of wack
Of knocking out the frauds in a second
And some seconds
Who gets weaker?
Was 'Poetry'
Nor sing a song
I'm this
Brown man
And keeps checkin'
Rap is like a set-up
KR collects
Stereotypes of today
Nor do I f*** around
And teaching real facts
Don't bother dissin' me
Out of many
One of y'all hear it
On the industry
When I hear wack rhymes
Teachers teach and do the world good
The competition checks and checks
Our music be thumpin'
See, what do you expect
Or commercialize all our lyrics
Talk broken english and drug sellin'
About D-Nice, Melodie
And learn to be original
Mainly what I write is for the average New Yorker
No goat or ham
