KRS-One - South Bronx 2002 lyrics

This what you call hardcore
Fat gospel street gospel

Raw rhymes for raw times
My albums are underground
But this blessing is all mine
And when it's tour time, we open more minds
You need to rethink who you think
Is the "Greatest of All Time"
I got this - I'm raw like Freddie Foxxx is
Hardcore like The LOX is
Scott LaRock is where 2Pac is
Where hip-hop is
Digital-ly Underground like Shock is
Oh yes - I know where the top is
But I'd rather rhyme about how crooked
Some of these cops is
My synopsis ain't pretty
I'd stay, off them plains and
Out the city if I were you
Do what you gotta do
But while you wave them flags
Remember Amadou diallo
Here's what we gotta do, follow
I'll put hip-hop in you if you're hollow
Those that already filled
STILL take swallows
Goin over potholes with Tahoes
You don't think +I+ know? Huh! I'm
Lookin at you right now
You ain't dancin in the club
You in your car, sittin down
You in the crib, on the low
You got them headsets on the go
You just saw me at the show
- oh you don't know?
It's the Temple of Hip-Hop, comin
With a whole DIFFERENT flow
Yo where them hoes at? I don't know
But wherever God at, I'mma go
I give 'em a hard rap AND a flow
That's why when they call back for the show
With no video we get up and go!

Peep it out while I tell ya like this
In every single hood in the
WORLD I'm called Kris
It's the, truth for ya, it's the proof for ya
My Cristal passes more bars than lawyers
The underground sound
This is not easily found
You don't need no rings to be down
This is, past the platinum and gold
We already had 'em, it's old
Here's the truth if it be told, gather 'round
Philosopher style is known to be wild
If you only holdin them guns
Who's holdin your child?
You got to be thinkin you
KNOW that you shrinkin
When the art of Navigation has
Been reduced to a Lincoln
Change the dial! I was free
Then and I'm free now
You free, runnin to MTV? I don't see how!
You know the real from the fake
You know they stealin they cake
You know it ain't about the art
It's all about what they make
You know the radio's late
You know they play what you hate
That's why you got that Kay Slay tape
Tryin to escape
You know the love of the cars and the rims
Tattooed arms and Timbs, are also called sins
You know you got to pay for these spins
You know the rap magazines be wack
From beginning to the end bO!

I never was a king and I'm not the Pres
I'm a teacher like that reefer
Goin straight to your head
I'm a preacher tryin to bring my
People back from the dead
I'm a leader tryin to keep you
All away from the feds
You my sister I'll be tryin to
Get you OUT of the bed
I'm a philospher sayin what has
GOT to be said i don't FILL you with lead
I bring that KNOWLEDGE instead
FOLLOW this dread
I'll take you from A to Zed
Who am I? Just a scholar called K-R-S
You can spend your money on
Others but THEY AIN'T BLESSED
You can spend your money drugs
And STILL BE STRESSED
Look around for conscious rappers yo
There AIN'T NONE LEFT
I'm holdin it down better yet I'm holdin up
Waitin for some young buck to come
And sip from the cup
And continue with the menu puttin
New knowledge in you
I got a question and a lesson cause
I KNOW what you been through but

No beat the South South Bronx, boyeee