Slap Them Up Lyrics
| Song | Slap Them Up |
| Artist | KRS-One |
| Album | Return of the Boom Bap |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Broady, Parker | |
| 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 i'm sayin'? but yo, | |
| Yo kris, run that shit, ya know what i'm sayin'? that, that shit, | |
| My joint. run that motherfucker...it's only right kid... | |
| [krs-one] | |
| (do it, do it, do it...) | |
| Drop that bassline... | |
| You want lyrics? we give ya lyrics. 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] | |
| Mc's get ate, get broken like a pretzel | |
| And get dissed if they ever try to step to | |
| They can't 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 you're 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 | |
| It's 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 i'm mad undefeated | |
| Young boy, you can't 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 can't seem to let go | |
| Go, go call your mother, tell her you wanna battle krs quick | |
| I bet the minute you get home you'll get your ass whipped | |
| Crazy ill mad styles is what i give'em | |
| Not a run-of-the-mill'em, i drill'em, i got ridiculous rhythm | |
| None of my styles you can get with'em | |
| Still um, will um, your crew come get some so i can kill'em | |
| [ill will] | |
| Well i roll by myself but don't let it fool ya | |
| If i got beef my crew'll damn step to ya | |
| We don't play no games, i'll come straight to your rest | |
| Lift up your shirt and blast you in your chest | |
| [well that was fresh] | |
| [krs-one] | |
| A fad doesn't fill the bill, but mad skills will | |
| Don't 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 you're a leech | |
| If i was spanish i'd 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 you're really a bitch, when you get it together | |
| Call me, here's 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' you're hard because you wear a gangsta t-shirt | |
| I'll smash your wanna-be ass in the deep dirt | |
| Black, you'll come up dizzy sayin' "how da fuck he do dat?" | |
| 'cause you're yappin' like you can't be reached | |
| If your name ain't arrested development, well save your speech | |
| Time to ill, i got mad skills to fill | |
| Not a fake, i got more styles than drake's got tasty cakes | |
| Gotta be the best gee, don't try to test me | |
| You'll get jacked son, even if your name is not jesse | |
| Let's be up front when i meet ya | |
| Peace, uh, i'm 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 | |
| Brooklyn's in the house, lemme tell ya 'bout staten island | |
| What about...queens? |
| zuo ci : Broady, Parker | |
| 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 i' m sayin'? but yo, | |
| Yo kris, run that shit, ya know what i' m sayin'? that, that shit, | |
| My joint. run that motherfucker... it' s only right kid... | |
| krsone | |
| do it, do it, do it... | |
| Drop that bassline... | |
| You want lyrics? we give ya lyrics. 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 | |
| Mc' s get ate, get broken like a pretzel | |
| And get dissed if they ever try to step to | |
| They can' t 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 | |
| krsone | |
| If you' re 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 | |
| It' s 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 i' m mad undefeated | |
| Young boy, you can' t see me, run along and make peepee | |
| I was rockin' rhymes when " ladidadi" was a demo | |
| Admit you been on my tip for years and just can' t seem to let go | |
| Go, go call your mother, tell her you wanna battle krs quick | |
| I bet the minute you get home you' ll get your ass whipped | |
| Crazy ill mad styles is what i give' em | |
| Not a runofthemill' em, i drill' em, i got ridiculous rhythm | |
| None of my styles you can get with' em | |
| Still um, will um, your crew come get some so i can kill' em | |
| ill will | |
| Well i roll by myself but don' t let it fool ya | |
| If i got beef my crew' ll damn step to ya | |
| We don' t play no games, i' ll come straight to your rest | |
| Lift up your shirt and blast you in your chest | |
| well that was fresh | |
| krsone | |
| A fad doesn' t fill the bill, but mad skills will | |
| Don' t 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 you' re a leech | |
| If i was spanish i' d say, " you lie like a beech" | |
| Wowwowwowwow, wowwowwow, wowwowwow... | |
| Wow, for a amateur you really looked hard | |
| But you' re really a bitch, when you get it together | |
| Call me, here' s 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' you' re hard because you wear a gangsta tshirt | |
| I' ll smash your wannabe ass in the deep dirt | |
| Black, you' ll come up dizzy sayin' " how da fuck he do dat?" | |
| ' cause you' re yappin' like you can' t be reached | |
| If your name ain' t arrested development, well save your speech | |
| Time to ill, i got mad skills to fill | |
| Not a fake, i got more styles than drake' s got tasty cakes | |
| Gotta be the best gee, don' t try to test me | |
| You' ll get jacked son, even if your name is not jesse | |
| Let' s be up front when i meet ya | |
| Peace, uh, i' m 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 | |
| Brooklyn' s in the house, lemme tell ya ' bout staten island | |
| What about... queens? |
| zuò cí : Broady, Parker | |
| 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 i' m sayin'? but yo, | |
| Yo kris, run that shit, ya know what i' m sayin'? that, that shit, | |
| My joint. run that motherfucker... it' s only right kid... | |
| krsone | |
| do it, do it, do it... | |
| Drop that bassline... | |
| You want lyrics? we give ya lyrics. 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 | |
| Mc' s get ate, get broken like a pretzel | |
| And get dissed if they ever try to step to | |
| They can' t 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 | |
| krsone | |
| If you' re 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 | |
| It' s 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 i' m mad undefeated | |
| Young boy, you can' t see me, run along and make peepee | |
| I was rockin' rhymes when " ladidadi" was a demo | |
| Admit you been on my tip for years and just can' t seem to let go | |
| Go, go call your mother, tell her you wanna battle krs quick | |
| I bet the minute you get home you' ll get your ass whipped | |
| Crazy ill mad styles is what i give' em | |
| Not a runofthemill' em, i drill' em, i got ridiculous rhythm | |
| None of my styles you can get with' em | |
| Still um, will um, your crew come get some so i can kill' em | |
| ill will | |
| Well i roll by myself but don' t let it fool ya | |
| If i got beef my crew' ll damn step to ya | |
| We don' t play no games, i' ll come straight to your rest | |
| Lift up your shirt and blast you in your chest | |
| well that was fresh | |
| krsone | |
| A fad doesn' t fill the bill, but mad skills will | |
| Don' t 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 you' re a leech | |
| If i was spanish i' d say, " you lie like a beech" | |
| Wowwowwowwow, wowwowwow, wowwowwow... | |
| Wow, for a amateur you really looked hard | |
| But you' re really a bitch, when you get it together | |
| Call me, here' s 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' you' re hard because you wear a gangsta tshirt | |
| I' ll smash your wannabe ass in the deep dirt | |
| Black, you' ll come up dizzy sayin' " how da fuck he do dat?" | |
| ' cause you' re yappin' like you can' t be reached | |
| If your name ain' t arrested development, well save your speech | |
| Time to ill, i got mad skills to fill | |
| Not a fake, i got more styles than drake' s got tasty cakes | |
| Gotta be the best gee, don' t try to test me | |
| You' ll get jacked son, even if your name is not jesse | |
| Let' s be up front when i meet ya | |
| Peace, uh, i' m 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 | |
| Brooklyn' s in the house, lemme tell ya ' bout staten island | |
| What about... queens? |
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