Word, YEAH'! So we sing
Me don't-wan'-me don't-wan'-me
Don't-wan'-me don't-wan' no whack deejay uh
Me don't-wan'-me don't-wan'-me
Don't-wan'-me don't-wan' no whack deejay uh
Me don't like what they play
Me don't like what they say
Me don't-wan'-me don't-wan'-me
Don't-wan'-me don't-wan' no whack deejay uh
New flow, new style, comin in BOOM BAP
Who now wanna throw down, the crew's wild
One flow - you go, two flows - you outta here
We pros, three flows
Buck through your outer gear
Let's raise the fahrenheit on these
DJ's we don't like
You know who I'm talkin about
Yo they might come on tonight
They never hype, never tight
That's not polite
Am I lyin? No you're quit right
So tonight, I be statin facts
Most DJ's are whack they be holdin back
They NBA - Never Broke a Act
Yo I'm hopin that, new DJ's open rap
Bring the focus back
And take the crates from these fakes to
The lake and throw 'em OVER that
We lead 'em to freedom or
Poetically beat 'em up
In conventions like meet 'em, see them
We plan to eat 'em up
I'm bein MC'in seein and agreein
That this here cut
DEFINITELY will hit them up, so we sing
I SCREAM on these rappers
Like directors do actors
Hang with computer hackers on
Farms and ride tractors
Thug spelled backwards is GUT, drop the H
If you ain't got guts and
You callin yourself a thug, you a fake!
Not just the guts to bust off 44 calibre
Cause mad thugs turn bitch when
You show that ass algebra
It's like the vexed look, the sex look
The checks look, cause brothers be
Scared of that textbook!
You best look elsewhere
Knowledge of self here
Never no welfare, echinicea for health care
Outrappin 'em, slappin 'em, ghetto
Scholar like Pun, joey Crack and them
On spraypaint we put fat caps on 'em (WORD)
Up in the yard, we go to hittin it harder
Then return to reprieve as
Mild mannered Kris Parker
The exec, signin on checks, approvin budgets
But if you want it, meet me at any club
We can THUG IT
NORE goes "WHAT WHAT, " Cube goes "YEH-YEAH!"
Jamaicans go "BUCK BUCK
" MC Eiht goes "GYEAH'!"
Master P goes "UNGHHH
" Busta RHymes goes "YAH YAH"
KRS-One goes "WOOP WOOP" like cop cars
Cause I pull over pop stars
And arrest they guitars
And sentence them to the turntables
Cuttin on 8 bars
Shakin 'em up, rippin 'em down
Brother whattup? Gimme a pound
You diggin the sound I'm bringin
Around, shakin the ground, never a clown
You know that you buggin
But you also know that you love it
Somethin new and bumpin others be frontin
They can't even think about
New flows and techniques
They speak when the check speaks
But KRS-One is direct heat
YES!
KRS-One - No Wack DJs Lyrics
KRS-One - No Wack DJs Lyrics
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We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
Word, YEAH'! So we sing
Me don't-wan'-me don't-wan'-me
Don't-wan'-me don't-wan' no whack deejay uh
Me don't-wan'-me don't-wan'-me
Don't-wan'-me don't-wan' no whack deejay uh
Me don't like what they play
Me don't like what they say
Me don't-wan'-me don't-wan'-me
Don't-wan'-me don't-wan' no whack deejay uh
New flow, new style, comin in BOOM BAP
Who now wanna throw down, the crew's wild
One flow - you go, two flows - you outta here
We pros, three flows
Buck through your outer gear
Let's raise the fahrenheit on these
DJ's we don't like
You know who I'm talkin about
Yo they might come on tonight
They never hype, never tight
That's not polite
Am I lyin? No you're quit right
So tonight, I be statin facts
Most DJ's are whack they be holdin back
They NBA - Never Broke a Act
Yo I'm hopin that, new DJ's open rap
Bring the focus back
And take the crates from these fakes to
The lake and throw 'em OVER that
We lead 'em to freedom or
Poetically beat 'em up
In conventions like meet 'em, see them
We plan to eat 'em up
I'm bein MC'in seein and agreein
That this here cut
DEFINITELY will hit them up, so we sing
I SCREAM on these rappers
Like directors do actors
Hang with computer hackers on
Farms and ride tractors
Thug spelled backwards is GUT, drop the H
If you ain't got guts and
You callin yourself a thug, you a fake!
Not just the guts to bust off 44 calibre
Cause mad thugs turn bitch when
You show that ass algebra
It's like the vexed look, the sex look
The checks look, cause brothers be
Scared of that textbook!
You best look elsewhere
Knowledge of self here
Never no welfare, echinicea for health care
Outrappin 'em, slappin 'em, ghetto
Scholar like Pun, joey Crack and them
On spraypaint we put fat caps on 'em (WORD)
Up in the yard, we go to hittin it harder
Then return to reprieve as
Mild mannered Kris Parker
The exec, signin on checks, approvin budgets
But if you want it, meet me at any club
We can THUG IT
NORE goes "WHAT WHAT, " Cube goes "YEH-YEAH!"
Jamaicans go "BUCK BUCK
" MC Eiht goes "GYEAH'!"
Master P goes "UNGHHH
" Busta RHymes goes "YAH YAH"
KRS-One goes "WOOP WOOP" like cop cars
Cause I pull over pop stars
And arrest they guitars
And sentence them to the turntables
Cuttin on 8 bars
Shakin 'em up, rippin 'em down
Brother whattup? Gimme a pound
You diggin the sound I'm bringin
Around, shakin the ground, never a clown
You know that you buggin
But you also know that you love it
Somethin new and bumpin others be frontin
They can't even think about
New flows and techniques
They speak when the check speaks
But KRS-One is direct heat
YES!
Me don't-wan'-me don't-wan'-me
Don't-wan'-me don't-wan' no whack deejay uh
Me don't-wan'-me don't-wan'-me
Don't-wan'-me don't-wan' no whack deejay uh
Me don't like what they play
Me don't like what they say
Me don't-wan'-me don't-wan'-me
Don't-wan'-me don't-wan' no whack deejay uh
New flow, new style, comin in BOOM BAP
Who now wanna throw down, the crew's wild
One flow - you go, two flows - you outta here
We pros, three flows
Buck through your outer gear
Let's raise the fahrenheit on these
DJ's we don't like
You know who I'm talkin about
Yo they might come on tonight
They never hype, never tight
That's not polite
Am I lyin? No you're quit right
So tonight, I be statin facts
Most DJ's are whack they be holdin back
They NBA - Never Broke a Act
Yo I'm hopin that, new DJ's open rap
Bring the focus back
And take the crates from these fakes to
The lake and throw 'em OVER that
We lead 'em to freedom or
Poetically beat 'em up
In conventions like meet 'em, see them
We plan to eat 'em up
I'm bein MC'in seein and agreein
That this here cut
DEFINITELY will hit them up, so we sing
I SCREAM on these rappers
Like directors do actors
Hang with computer hackers on
Farms and ride tractors
Thug spelled backwards is GUT, drop the H
If you ain't got guts and
You callin yourself a thug, you a fake!
Not just the guts to bust off 44 calibre
Cause mad thugs turn bitch when
You show that ass algebra
It's like the vexed look, the sex look
The checks look, cause brothers be
Scared of that textbook!
You best look elsewhere
Knowledge of self here
Never no welfare, echinicea for health care
Outrappin 'em, slappin 'em, ghetto
Scholar like Pun, joey Crack and them
On spraypaint we put fat caps on 'em (WORD)
Up in the yard, we go to hittin it harder
Then return to reprieve as
Mild mannered Kris Parker
The exec, signin on checks, approvin budgets
But if you want it, meet me at any club
We can THUG IT
NORE goes "WHAT WHAT, " Cube goes "YEH-YEAH!"
Jamaicans go "BUCK BUCK
" MC Eiht goes "GYEAH'!"
Master P goes "UNGHHH
" Busta RHymes goes "YAH YAH"
KRS-One goes "WOOP WOOP" like cop cars
Cause I pull over pop stars
And arrest they guitars
And sentence them to the turntables
Cuttin on 8 bars
Shakin 'em up, rippin 'em down
Brother whattup? Gimme a pound
You diggin the sound I'm bringin
Around, shakin the ground, never a clown
You know that you buggin
But you also know that you love it
Somethin new and bumpin others be frontin
They can't even think about
New flows and techniques
They speak when the check speaks
But KRS-One is direct heat
YES!
Writer: Lawrence Parker
Copyright: Lyrics © Royalty Network
Copyright: Lyrics © Royalty Network