Mortal Thought

Adjust that treble right now, adjust the bass

Turn it up, stop frontin', c'mon, turn it up

Alright, check it out, '93 lyrics, here we go

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 rock the mic

I play only the reggae and I play only rap

I rock the African, the European, and Jap-

​anese, I got to show you that I am all that

So I must rock the mic

Are you tired of lyrical liars, passing fliers

Wannabe emcees, 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 club is a skillet where emcees 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 with it

You call my name, I don't think about suing ya

I come to the club with that booyaka

Laughin' while I'm doin' ya, the crowd is booin' ya

Gimme one month, record for record or tape, I'll ruin ya

Some little old pound sound, boy want to rule da city

His style is lookin' pretty, beats and rhymes are dibby-dibby

Here comes the root-ical, radical teacha

I'll eat ya, defeat ya, beat ya 'til 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 is

My posse from the Bronx is thick

My posse from the Bronx is thick

My posse from the Bronx is thick

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 rock the mic

I play only the reggae and I play only rap

I rock the African, the European, and Jap-

​anese, I got to show you that I am all that

So I must rock 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

You's 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

My posse from the Bronx is thick

My posse from the Bronx is thick

My posse from the Bronx is thick

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 rock the mic

I play only the reggae and I play only rap

I rock the African, the European, and Jap-

​anese, I got to show you that I am all that

So I must rock the mic