Superia Skillz

[Intro: KRS-One & Mother Superia] Yeah, who that over there? Yo yo yo, who that? Who that over there? Mother Superia Yo, what up, Goddess? What up? Yo, what's going on? (What's up, man?) (Yo, them beats is the bomb, yo) What beats? Beats? Did somebody say beats? Can I get some of those beats? That's what I'm here for and I come to check you again Beats, more beats from the icon *laughing* Setting that shit off! [Verse 1] Rap is my forte, check portrait, that's on display This way, Superia flow from here to Mississippi And stay pretty, prepare for just runnin' scared through the forest Hearing niggas singing my chorus Out loud, looking into thе crowd, feeling proud (No doubt) Fake niggas don't know what that's about Ass out with your boy scout rhyme pattern Boycott it, sounding idiotic My shit gеts exotic like flowers, a little sweet and sour Bring your heavy duty manpower, I devour This hour, like the sin, trust wasn't discussed (Mother Superia, she's down with us) So what you seeking gots to be a beatin' Niggas steady speaking but ain't nobody thinkin' About what they pursuing, nor the outcome of what they doing Thirty seconds on the mic, whole careers are ruined And destroyed, contract null and void Unemployed niggas hanging from my mic cord Oh Lord, look what done happened And no thug reaction will let your body fraction, subtractions Why? MCs getting rubbed off the list, can't coexist Fucking with the likes of this, you better ask Kris Get in form, bringing more havoc than Storm Keep the shit lukewarm, baby boy from the [?] [Chorus: KRS-One] Pick up the mic and kill it, ill it, top bill it Pick up the mic and kill it, ill it, top bill it Pick up the mic and kill it, ill it, top bill it Pick up the mic and kill it, ill it, top bill it Pick up the mic and kill it, ill it, top bill it Pick up the mic and kill it, ill it, top bill it Pick up the mic and kill it, ill it, top bill it The club is a skillet where MCs get fried in it [Verse 2] Exquisite style, large and enormous You can swing through, baby, check the performance Warning to any MC, there's no remedy For the infectious style that flow through this LP (Come on) Maybe, lately you been feeling achy Stuffy head fever, smokin' too much cheeba Here comes the receiver, catchin' niggas slippin', tippin' scales Lyrical style sweeter than a bottle of Chanel No. 5, MCs recognise Not the Bronx side, they won't be televised That's for me to advertise Sex to get a mic check, nigga, what Bigger cut and we can go lyrically Dutch Get touched just like the first time all over 29th day of October, gave birth to a soldier Now a veteran of the culture and the streets Diggin' beats, making niggas meet the agony of defeat Repeat, "Mother Superia, you are the epitomy Of what a real MC is supposed to be" For the history, emotion, showing my devotion Filling every jail with my funky emotion Explosions of compositions well written Fit for the pickin', yet I'm continuously stickin' Never forgetting when practice makes perfection You wack MCs best to grab your protection [Chorus: KRS-One] Pick up the mic and kill it, ill it, top bill it Pick up the mic and kill it, ill it, top bill it Pick up the mic and kill it, ill it, top bill it Pick up the mic and kill it, ill it, top bill it Pick up the mic and kill it, ill it, top bill it Pick up the mic and kill it, ill it, top bill it Pick up the mic and kill it, ill it, top bill it The club is a skillet where MCs get fried in it [Outro] Word up Come on up here, come on up here [?] fuck! Right here, right fucking here!