Excuse me oh sire
What?
We've found a place to bury the lies and the false histories
Where is this place? What shall it be called?
It's in every inner city, and we'll call it the library where we'll bury the lies
Splendid, splendid, but now--
Wait! Wait! Somebody's coming!
Who is that?
It's KRS One!
Get him out of here now--
(Sound of machine gun fire...)
Let me see, let me see, how shall I start
If I say stop the violence, I won't chart
Maybe I should write some songs like Mozart
Cause many people don't believe rap is an art
Wake up, shake up, hypocrite look alive
Blastmaster KRS-One will revive
Four or five million still deprived
On how to survive, wake up and realize
Some people say I am a rap missionary
Some people say I am a walking dictionary
Some people say I am truly legendary
But what I am is simply a black revolutionary
I write rhymes on plain stationery
Mary, Mary, quite contrary
Doesn't make sense in my vocabulary
Uncle Tom house niggas, do scare me
So they can't be around, I don't do this
For every Jesus, there must be a Judas
It's the concept of the house nigga, field nigga
The house nigga will sell you up the river
So to massa, he'll look bigger
And when ya be under a rock, he'll slither
But I'll grab the tail of the house nigga
Pull the trigger and his head I'll deliver
To the court of righteous people
Black, white, or Indian, we're all equal
So all your racist codes I'll decode, explode
And eat you like apple pie a la mode
On a hot day, don't bring me no hamhocks
Cause round the clock, I'll kick their buttocks
All afternoon in the classroom, in the living room, in the bathroom
In the swimming pool, on a footstool
Then I'll stop - nope, April fools!
Whip out the baseball bat and somehow
March your racist butt to Moscow
What can I say, o ye of little faith
To think that KRS-One has surely been erased
What a waste, my finger points at the face of the human race
They're confused and misplaced
My words are subliminal, sometimes metaphysical
I teach, not preach, you want a challenge, I'll start dissing you
I go philosophical, my topic'll
Turn the cold, ignorant hot and tropical
You want a palm tree and nice dope shade?
Only if the universal law's obeyed
Which is know thyself, for better mental health
Yet so many rappers are preoccupied with wealth
On my shelf, yeah, I got titles
Other artists want belts and idols
World cups from seminars and conventions
Competitions and not to mention
The award shows for pimps and hoes
And every other hypocrite that flaunt their clothes
KRS knows, so he just grows
Always saying something different from the average Joes
So they can front and wear the biggest chain
But it doesn't write albums, I believe it is the brain
So I'll remain plain, while you reign I'm loving it
You be the king and I'll overthrow your government
Send your crew, triple it or double it
I'll out-think 'em, choke 'em, and shrink 'em
Down to your size despite their cries
In the face of intelligence, ignorance dies
Yeah, it's simple edutainment
Rap needed a teacher, so I became it
Rough and ready, the beats are very steady
With lyrics sharp as a machete
Clap, there's another house nigga's neck
Now his soft Uncle Tom crew is in check
Ego wrecked and rhymes corrected
By KRS One, produced and directed
Paroles2Chansons dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)
