KRS One

Mortal Thought (I Must Roc The Mic)

KRS One


Adjust that treble right now adjust the bass 
Turn it up stop frontin 
C'mon turn it up 
Alright check it out ninety three lyrics here we go 
Bo! 

I never want a jheri curl up under my hat 
The woman in my bed has got to be strictly black 
I never want money if my lyrics are wack 
So I must roc the mic 
I play only the reggae and I play only rap 
I rock the African the European, and Jap 
Beneath I got to show you that I am all that 
So I must, roc, the mic 

Are you tired of lyrical liars, passing fliers 
Wannabe MC's, but really good triers 
Tripping over mic cords, getting you bored 
A total fraud, this kind of thing I can't afford, so I 
pick up the mic and kill it ill it top bill it 
The cough is a skillet, where MC's get fried in it 
You got beef chill it, blood I spill it 
After seven long years of ripping the party and I'm still widdit 
You call my name I don't think about suing ya 
I come to the club with that BOOYAKA 
Laughing while I'm doin ya the crowd is booin ya 
Gimme one month, record for record on tape I'll ruin ya 
Some likkle awl pon sound bwoy wan fi rule de city 
His style is lookin pretty beats and rhymes are dibby dibby 
Here comes the rootical ratical teacha 
I'll eat ya defeat ya beat ya till ya stagger and ya teeth chatter 
You'll be goin through convulsions as I flash data 
Any rapper can be a decapitated rapper now what's the matter 
You're full of more junk than a sausage 
Let me show you what a real hip-hop artist 

*DJ Premier cuts and scratches "My posse from the Bronx is thick!"* 

I never want a jheri curl up under my hat 
The woman in my bed has got to be strictly black 
I never want money if my lyrics are wack 
So I must, roc, the mic 
I play only the reggae and I play only rap 
I rock the African, the European, and Jap 
Beneath I got to show you that I am all that 
So I must, roc, the mic 

Of course yeah I'm the most brilliant recording artist in your life 
Never have to repeat a rhyme style twice, precise 
In a lyrical drought like water to your lips oh yes my lyrics will suffice 
I'm nice, like beans and rice, I am delicious 
Who's the freshest lyricist on the mic, you don't want to fuck with Kris is 
Lyric for lyric rhyme for rhyme style for style I break you like dishes 
Either you come fully correct or the lyrics you simply makin wishes 
We got no time for fake black leaders and dreamers blowin wishes 
youse a fraud, I mean a fraud like in fraudulation 
I know what it is, the crown of rhyme supremacy you're tastin 
And yes, before the flavor hits your greedy tongue 
You get ripped up by KRS-One 
Now, lyrics, somebody want lyrics, from the lyrical terrorist 
Here's a little somethin for you all to remember Kris, and remember this 
I am no pessimist, more of an optimist 
Activist revolutionist, yes the hardest artist 
And the smartest, Premier, spark this 

*Premier cuts and scratches "My posse from the Bronx is thick!"* 

I never want a jheri curl up under my hat 
The woman in my bed has got to be strictly black 
I never want money if my lyrics are wack 
So I must, roc, the mic 
I play only the reggae and I play only rap 
I rock the African, the European, and Jap 
Beneath I got to show you that I am all that 
So I must, roc, the mic