Paroles Slap them up KRS-One

Slap them up

Intro
~~~~~

[d.j. premier]

Tellin it like it is, right about now d.j. premier is in the
Motherfuckin house and shit, ya know what Im sayin? but yo,
Yo kris, run that shit, ya know what Im sayin? that, that shit,
My joint. run that motherfucker...its only right kid...

[krs-one]

(do it, do it, do it...)

Drop that bassline...
You want ? we give ya . check it out now, one time...

(do it, do it, do it...)

When we come in all de dance nuff d.j.s shut up, woy!
Gal! will ya come slap dem up

When we come in all de dance nuff d.j.s shut up, woy!
Ill will, slap dem up

Verse
~~~~~

[ill will]

Mcs get ate, get broken like a pretzel
And get dissed if they ever try to step to
They cant take a mc with loose lips
Talk a lotta shit [but sink no motherfuckin ships]
Lyrics make bigger holes than hollow tips
Watch another rapper body get stiff
Just like in church, we pass the basket
As I preach over his casket
Fuck it, kick the body right over
And say see ya, hmm...nice to know ya
Got another rapper to see
Yo kris, bust that ass [certainly]

[krs-one]

If youre shiverin get off the pot
Let the original rapper rock the spot
You stand there and jock, goin [mumbles]
This is absolutely ludicrous, what can you do to kris
Chattin foolishness, step along quick with that stupidness
Its me rippin this for self, where else ya lookin?
I got more rhymes than all the jamaicans in brooklyn
So beat it or be seated, gee Im mad undefeated
Young boy, you cant see me, run along and make pee-pee
I was rockin rhymes when la-di-da-di was a demo
Admit you been on my tip for years and just cant seem to let go
Go, go call your mother, tell her you wanna battle krs quick
I bet the minute you get home youll get your ass whipped
Crazy ill mad styles is what I giveem
Not a run-of-the-millem, I drillem, I got ridiculous rhythm
None of my styles you can get withem
Still um, will um, your crew come get some so I can killem

[ill will]

Well I roll by myself but dont let it fool ya
If I got beef my crewll damn step to ya
We dont play no games, Ill come straight to your rest
Lift up your shirt and blast you in your chest
[well that was fresh]

[krs-one]

A fad doesnt fill the bill, but mad skills will
Dont let me have to kill you kid, God forbid still
Greed will lead your need to succeed
But your speed, your speech
Your outreach is a breach of what I teach
For lyrical styles youre a leech
If I was spanish Id say, [you lie like a beech]
Wow-wow-wow-wow, wow-wow-wow, wow-wow-wow...
Wow, for a amateur you really looked hard
But youre really a bitch, when you get it together
Call me, heres my card
Check the list: you lack breath control, mental behaviour
Lyrical talent, imagination and flavour
I got no time for amateur rhyme, you could be hurt
Thinkin youre hard because you wear a gangsta t-shirt
Ill smash your wanna-be ass in the deep dirt
Black, youll come up dizzy sayin how da fuck he do dat?
cause youre yappin like you cant be reached
If your name aint arrested development, well save your speech
Time to ill, I got mad skills to fill
Not a fake, I got more styles than drakes got tasty cakes
Gotta be the best gee, dont try to test me
Youll get jacked son, even if your name is not jesse
Lets be up front when I meet ya
Peace, uh, Im the motherfuckin teacher

Outro
~~~~~

When we come in all de dance nuff d.j.s shut up, woy!
Gal! will ya come slap dem up

When we come in all de dance nuff d.j.s shut up, woy!
Gal! will ya come slap dem up, up, up, up, up...

(do it, do it, do it...) x2

Yo...south bronx, south south bronx
South bronx, south south...yo, uptown
Brooklyns in the house, lemme tell ya bout staten island
What about...queens?