Tim Dog, KRS-One - I Get Wrecked lyrics

Pop pop pop pop!

Yeah, ha hah, you have been warned
The Boogie Down boys are gonna get ya

That's right, boy!
You are now jammin' to the
Sounds of the Boogie Down hit 'em like this
Oooh!

Yeah, yeah, yeah can I get a yes? (yes)
Can I get a motherfuckin' yes? (yes)
Do I grab the mic and get respect? (yes)
Lyrically I can get wrecked? (yes) okey!
But can I get a oh? (oh)
Can I get a motherfuckin' oh? (oh)
Do I get wreck at every show? (oh)
Lyrically I got the flow? (oh)
So here we go!

What does KRS and Tim Dog have in common?


We both hate corny ass soft commercial rhymin
I don't sound like Phyllis
Hyman or the Winans
I rock Central Park but do not
Mistake me for Paul Simon
I can't hear nothin but wreck
Do not force me
I can't hear Fred Astaire, Cher
Tommy Dorsey you lost me
Pure hip-hop rhymes beats I see
Singers dressed like rappers kickin love
Songs you can keep
Give me the boom bap when I kick my rap
No need for background singers and dancers
Fuck all that
What you see you see, what you hear you hear
When you cheer and you cheer
I'm every fresh MC's nightmare
The instrumental is fundamental and essential
When I practice I get sharp like a pencil
But the pencil's made of oak
So don't provoke
You'll get broke, whaddya take I am, a joke?
I'm radical, mathematical
If I have static I'll pick up the mic
Or automatic either way I won't have it
I cover the whole gam-it mic I'll rap it
Leaving with your ass out like a faggot
This is a losing battle you're like cattle
The sound of my name KRS
Makes your tail waggle
Better yet, you're a snake so it rattles
I'll dice you up like an apple
Smash you into Snapple
I'm not, the one you wanna battle that bad
Off the skin of your ass
I'll make a shoulder bag
I bring the blade all around
By the time I'm done you'll be $299 a pound

Coming from the butcher shop
Fuck with KRS and the Dog and get chopped
Chopped, say stop (STOP) say stop (STOP)
'Cause I'm true to hip-hop
While others flip-flop
Till they hit the tip-top
Now it's time to get props
Wack MC's I just tax
I'll eat tracks, shit it out with Ex-Lax
Bitch ass niggas step aside
Tenderoni rappers meet your homicide
To all you non-believers
Here's the menace side
Genacide, come inside
You're goin on a murder ride
I'm energetical, theoretical, copacetical
Alphabetical hypothetical yeah that is cool
No I'm not a fool takin you to school, don't
Be late for school, fool
I'm fuckin your girl while your ass in school
Fool, wipe off the drool, 'cause I'm too cool
I'm the man with lyrics that jam
Kickin MC's in the face like Van Damme
Shazam, hot damn, thank you ma'am
Don't eat Spam or no types of ham
You thought I fell off?
You're smokin somethin
You thought I was soft? You
On dope or somethin
You must be on a can of dope or dog food
You actin real rude
Don't ya know I'm Tim Dog dude?
So go ahead and flex, if you got next
But when I get the mic I get wreck
So come on, come on, come on, come on
I'll eat that ass, that's word is born
Rarrrgh!

Can I get a yes? (yes)
Can I get motherfuckin' yes? (yes)
Do I grab the mic and get respect? (yes)
Are you the king, the K the R the S? (yes)
Okey! But can I get a oh? (oh)
Can I get a motherfuckin' oh? (oh)
Do we get wreck at every show? (oh)
Lyrically we got the flow? (oh)
There you go!

Now don't say nuttin while I'm deckin ya
'Causin hysteria
I've been in more battles than America
Rap messenger, comin' in quick
I pick up the music and watch 'em stagger
Rip another verse and watch his body splatter
Whether you like me or not don't matter
Kris is not a actor
I'll burn your favorite rapper and
Leave him in stitches weak bitches
Real renegade rap rebels
Rip rhymes ferociously
Which one of these pussy MC's can go at me?
So if you wish to play me like a farmer
I get calmer
Chop ya ass up like Jeffrey Dahmer
My psychopathic fantastic classic puts
You in a casket
On top of that, you can get your ass kicked
Quick, awww shit
I’m physically fit and admit'n
I’m lyrical lickin'
And I got more rhymes than Madonna gets dick
And I'm the lyrical lunatic
That flips all scripts with the quickness
Yo I get heated like cough mentholyptus now
The microphone I must feel it
I must touch it up
Kris One and Tim Dog's come to fuck it up
Evidently I bust shots till
The Glock is empty no safety
Pull the trigger tip don't try to chase me
Down, chase the sound you must be buggin
This is Boogie Down, Boogie Down, Boogie Down
Boogie Down Boogie Down Produc-tions
Jump around be the one is the function
Tim Dog
Why don't you show em a little somethin

Baby baby um, maybe maybe um
You better run, cause you know I have a gun
Bang bang boogie, up jumps the boogie
Take that bullshit rap down the street
A skippedy be bop be bop, Scooby Doo
That bullshit's not me, that bullshit is you
I come correct, get much respect
Do some hummina hummina shit
And still get wreck 'Cause I'm the Dog
The muthafuckin Dog ya hear
I'm the Dog, the muthafuckin Dog ya hear
MC's come close but never could get near
'Cause I just smash, throw MCs through glass
Take his cash, whip his ass
And do a yard dash
So take your ass home, write a poem
And when you get nice, use the god damn phone
'Cause I get buckwild, do some 'ole freestyle
And beat ya down with the turnstile
Doggie doggie bo boggie fanana
Fanna fo foggie me mi mo moggie, doggie
Rappers goin' platinum doin this bullshit
I do the same shit, and make a big hit
'Cause if you don't like my lyrical flow
I gotta make dough, don't cha know
Ya little ho- mo- sexual I bet you will
Be on the dick if it turns into a hit
But that type of shit is jumpin' the fuck off
So I do the same, now I'm comin' off
So don't get upset if you
Can't get lyrical respect
Don't get mad, get wreck

Yeahhh!
This track has been dedicated to real hip-hop
The lyrics peace to all the true
Hip-hop followers out there
Peace to the Zulu Nation
Peace to Willie D and the
Boogie Down Production posse
And peace to the South Bronx peace! (echoes)