Boogie Down Productions - Ruff Ruff Lyrics
[krs-one] * voice echoing*Think you dope? want this title?Then you better come step up or step off![freddie foxxx]Yo check this out, all jokes asideLets get busy[krs-one]Word! blastmaster krs-one in the houseHah, everybody for some reason wanna be a gangstaYou dont know nuttin about bein no gangsta[freddie foxxx]Worrrrrrrd up! aiyyo check this outThis is freddie f-o-x-x-xAnd guess whats next[krs-one]Every posse wan fi chat, they wan fi chat, they wan fi chatEvery posse wan fi chat, but ju knows dem is wackEvery posse wan fi chat, they wan fi chat, they wan fi chatEvery posse wan fi chat, but ju knows dem is wackEvery posse wan fi chat, but ju knows dem is wackThey jump pon the mic, an wan fi do it like datBut ahh, now dis a krs, me nah takes datWhen me open up to work, I put a cape on me backThen me, fly all around the emcee worldKrs, the artical, is not to be [*changes from patois*]*****ed with, ? with, or tampered withDont give a ***** if you wanna riffBut when you say kris, already derivative of krisMy eyebrows lift and that ass I get with (huh)As a matter of fact, I attack, hijackSet back, your career, like a quarterbackThat broke his back, my tongue is like a batYour eyell get black, youll need an icepack (rrrrruff!)Im all that, come with your whole packYoull be prayin to the God of isaacSo freddie foxxx, its time to get tough [uh-huh]Just, get on the mic and get ruff, ruff[freddie foxxx]Soon as I flex, cause Im about to rip up shopIts the return of the hip-hop master, freddie the foxxx(bo!) rappers that see me, dont even speak, just walkCause Im the maddest nigga in new york (hah!)I see a rapper in the crowd that I dont likeI wanna fight, so when I drop the micIma jump off the stage, bumrush your crowd to whip(suckers) that wanna be pimpsHow I heard it said that a pimpll sell his assIf his hoe wont, but freddie foxxx dontCover your chest g, you better wear a bulletproof vest seeCause Im about to leave this place a mother*****in messOpen hearts on the floor as I exploreRappers that wanted to be more than number fourNumber ones a hard spot; either you fightOr get shot, so this is what I got (bo!)Three tec-9s, my uzi, ten grenades, my razor bladesAnd I aim to get paid!So who wanna step to this, dont come softCause ima straight up knock niggaz off (pom! pom!)And when the cops come to get meIma take a dead body, and bop ten cops with meIm sick and tired of hearin rappers talk smackAbout whos nice, and whos whack, mother***** thatThey know my style, and my rep, every stageThat I stepped on - I was the rapper they slept onBut yall rappers keep sleepin - cause when they plantBombs in your house, ima wake you up and punch youIn your mother*****in mouth, knock your wife outTake your sons to safety, cause theyre just kidsAnd I wanna raise em to face meAnd when they get a little biggaIma mark them little niggaz, and put their fingerprintsOn the trigger -- double homicide, call the viceAnother rapper and his family with no lifeYeah youre mr. tough and, youre full of stuff andAnd freddie foxxx caught you bluffinI got you in my torture chamber and you screamOh God damn, its like _silence of the lambs_But I dont mangle em and eat emI take mcs to the war zone, and there I defeat emIt gets much worse, with every verseAs the f-r-e-d-d-i-e f-o-x-x-x, hurts!Punishes, stomps, smashes, crushes, maimsYou suckers know my name!Aiyyo kris! Im rhymin long enough (say what? )Get on the mic and get ruff, ruff[krs-one]This is the year that I go all out (why? )Edutainments what Im all about (and)I dont eat franks with the sauerkraut (cause)Because I dont eat pork from the tail to the snout(well kick it) get on down, to the hip hip hopBefore I start, peace to scott larock! (word)Now let me drop the style that has actionCause many mcs dont believe theyre rappinTheyre lost, crazy mixed-up in their identityThis is not, what hip-hop is meant to be (word up)I come unique, I cant be beat, hardcore streetFor the kids, with a hundred-and-fifty on their feet(kick it) I dont compete, I defeat and delete yaThen critique ya, all mcs retreat, here comes the tchaChewin suckers like smuckersHittin on, sittin on, shittin on, flippin on mother*****ersYeah, Im like the movie _aliens_I hide inside your right hand man, when you think you got meBam! my head comes out your chestA mutilated mess of nastynessChunks of bloody flesh, yes krs on the slaughterSpecialize in instant rhyme style, you simply add waterEvian, I pull the string thenRing-ding-ding, ding-ding-ding-dingBack in the days, I wrote +south bronx+The juice crew got stomped, lick two shotPom! pom! really it was magics faultAlways wanna diss somebody, he got put to a haltIts wack, when a sucker dj babbles onSoupin up mcs to battle on songThats wrong, but in any event, I drop the classicIn 1992 the original it aint plasticEverybody know, bdp, is fantastic, burn like acidCredit card plastic, stretch like elasticLove and respect is the tacticBam! in your mother*****in faceKrs in the placeI never liked listening to *****es and hoes anyway(fi-yah!)[freddie foxxx]Well you know I like hoes, cause Im a mackBut I dont like the wack tracks, youknowhatimsayin?And for all your suckers out thereThat underestimate the militant mack, get the bo-zackYou know what I mean? (word) word![krs-one]You know why?Every posse wan fi chat, they wan fi chat, they wan fi chatEvery posse wan fi chat, but ya knows dey is wackEvery posse wan fi chat, they wan fi chat, you know dem a wackEvery posse wan fi chat, but ya knows dey is wack[freddie foxxx]Yes.. fresh.. for nineteen-ninety-two you suckers * echoes *[krs-one]Mother*****ers! brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! * echoes to fade *
