[Intro: Prodigy]
Aiyyo, word up, dunn
These niggas making me laugh, yo
Gotta be more to it than this, word up
{*doing a slight Scarface impressions*}
This what it's all about Dunn? Uh?
Eating, drinking, fucking, sucking? (Can't understand)
Whattup, I don't know, baby
Nah, man, it's not! It's not! Yo, word up
I'm tellin' you right now
I know this shit though... aiyyo
[Verse 1: Prodigy]
Disagreeable, foul energy
Tryin' to Absorb my energy, knowin' it's the strength of me
Take a few to give me a edge
My green light shine bright – Kryptonite type
Fully operational, my physical clean
Put the bottles and smoke down, picked up a magazine
Popped it inside the AR-15
Put it aside, round up the regime
While you rely on religion
I hold a nine, on a mission to pull fire on your opposition
Revelation was the vision of this
Crack the heavens, it's time to bring the business – shit
My story goes back to the Mars Pyramids
I've seen things that you wouldn't believe exist
You's a luna-tic, suspended in time, dunn
That secondary light got your mind
You rock the fatigues, subscribin' to Popular Guns
But are you really prepared, for the things to come?
[Verse 2: KRS-One]
Check it out
True underground sound from the Boogie Down
Uptown, Downtown, gather 'round for the showdown – in they faces
Calling out these racists
At Rolling Stone, Spin, Details, and other places
KRS is The Source!
Fuck these magazine leadin' Hip-Hop off course
You'll print about Black Mayors, Black Senators
Why you ain't got no Black Editors?
Every time I do an interview in Rolling Stone
They sendin' me a writer that look like he's Home Alone
Ignorant, to the culture and the microphone
This has got to stop – your whole spot is blown sky high
Battle? Why try?
My view is bird's eye, scopin' with my third eye
You don't understand, why you're publicly banned
Until you recognize the writing skills of a Black man
Black Editor, all of us ain't thuggin'
Gossiping over who's homosexual
Some of us are Black Intellectuals, up in Harlem World
You can't get with me
So now in Midtown, you wanna stop and talk to me?
Bitch-ass journalist –
Is this your fake Hip-Hop publication? Look I'm burnin' this
[Verse 3: Method Man]
How many didn't want to see it happen?
Street moves, live from Staten, if life is a joke, nobody laughin'
Hate to see a brother do good through legal action
So you sabotage and throw a Def in the Squad
Fo'-fo's blastin, keep the po'-po's flashin'
These dark Soul Assassins, jakes hate the Gods with a passion
So I keep it movin' in an orderly – fashion
Pedal to the floor, peep the Jim Crow law, mind control theory
Y'all niggas don't hear me (Word)
Generation X – droppin' fast, who's next?
Next to get wet
By the reign of the TEC-knowledgy, follow me
Open up wide now, swallow me
Every calorie – is reality the truth
The whole truth and nothin' but the truth
Taste is the proof; these niggas want the juice
And in the crossfire be the youth, who didn't learn to duck when they shoot
[Verse 4: KAM]
What kind of party is this? It's that political kind
Where America's best, most hypocritical minds
Try they hands at keepin' y'all deaf, dumb, and blind
And for the right dollar sign, do white collar crime
Behind suits, and clean shaves
I confuse 'em and use 'em as tools and slaves
Because my schools is graves and jobs is plantations –
I robs the damn nation
So I can live in luxury, you fucks with me
You marryin' the dirt, and I'ma throw in the tux for free
I tell the people what they wanna hear
I make 'em laugh and cheer, and then they re-elect me every year
So when the coast is clear, I stop duckin'
And start back doin' dope, cussin', and fuckin'
I kiss the babies, shake hands, wave, and smile for flicks
That's my style, my pile'a tricks
Triple-Six convicts, lyin' is automatic
In the government, Republican or Democratic
Fuck Freedom, Justice, and Equality
Nigga, just accept my apology and suck this trick-knowledgy
