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Rappers R.N. Dainja

This song is by KRS-One.

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.
Ah 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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