Krs-one - I Get Wrecked lyrics

Intro: KRS One : Pop pop pop pop! KRS One : Go uptown, go uptown, go uptown, go uptown (in the background) (repeats while Tim Dog is speaking) Tim Dog : Yeahhhh, ha hah, you have been warned The Boogie Down boys are gonna get ya KRS One : That's right boye, you are now jammin to the sounds of the Boogie Down Hit em like this, hoooooooo Chorus: Tim Dog (KRS-One in parenthesis) Yeah, yeah, yeah, can I get a yes (yes) Can I get another one, yes (yes) Do I get wreck and get respect (yes) Lyrically I can get wreck (yes), ha hah Well can I get a ho (ho) Can I get a motherf**in' ho, ho (ho) Do I get wrecked at every show? (ho) Lyrically I got the flow (ho), So here we go Verse One: KRS-One What does KRS and Tim Dog have in common We both hate corny a** soft commercial rhyme I don't sound like Phyllis Simon or the Wynans 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 sharin 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, f** all that What you see you see, what you hear you hear When you cheer and you cheer, I'm every first MC's nightmare The instrumental is fundamentally 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 for 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 gamit Mic I'll rap it leaving with your a** out like a f*ggot This is a losing battle your 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 Or just give me your a** I'll make a shoulder bag I bring the blade all around By the time I'm done you'll be $2.99 a pound Verse Two: Tim Dog Coming from the butcher shop f** with KRS and the Dog and get chopped Chopped, say stopped, hah think stopped Stop listen to the hip-hop while others slip-slop Till they hit the tip-top now it's time to get props Wack MC's I just tax I'll eat tracks sh** it out with Ex-Lax b**h a** n***as step aside Tenderoni rappers, means your homicide Toyin non-believers, here's the menace side sh** aside, come inside, you're goin on a murder ride I'm energetical theoretical copastetical 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 s**in your girl while your a** 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 and dog food You actin real rude, don'tcha know I'm Tim Dog dude? So go ahead and flex, if you got necks But when I get the mic I get wreck So come on, come on, come on, come on I'll eat that a** that's word is born Rarrrrrgh! Chorus: Tim Dog (KRS-One in parenthesis) Can I get a yes (yes) Can I get another one, yes (yes) Do I get wreck and get respect (yes) Are you the king the K the R the S (ohhh yes) Well can I get a ho (ho) Can I get another one, ho (ho) Do I get wreck at any show (ho) Lyrically I got the flow (ho), there ya go Verse Three: KRS-One Now don't say nuttin while I'm checkin ya Causin hysteria been in more battles than America Rap messanger, comin in quick I pick up the mizick 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 b**hes, real renegade rap rebels rip rhymes Ferociously, which one of these p**y MC's can go at me So if you wish to play me like a farmer I get calmer, chop ya a** up like Jeffrey Dahmer My pyschopathic fantastic pathic puts you in a casket On top of that, you can get your a** kicked Quick, awww sh** (undecipherable) And I got more rhymes than Madonna gets dick And I'm the lyrical lunatic, that flips offness with the quickness Yo I get heated like cough menthalyptus now The micraphone I must feel it I must touch it up Kris One and Tim Dog's come to f** it up Evidentally 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 Verse Four : Tim Dog 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 bullsh** rap down the street A skippedy be bop be bop, Scooby Doo That bullsh**'s not me, that bullsh** is you I come correct, get much respect Do some hummina hummina sh**, and still get wreck Cause I'm the Dog, the muthaf**in Dog ya hear I'm the Dog, the muthaf**in Dog ya hear MC's come close but never could get near Cause I just smash, throwin keys through gla** Take his cash, whip his a**, and do a yard dash So take your a** 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 bullsh** I do the same sh**, and make a big hit Cause if you don't like my lyrical flow I gotta make dough, don'tcha know, ya little ho- Mo- s**ual I bet you will Be on the dick if it turns into a hit But that type of sh** is jumpin the f** 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 Closing : Tim Dog 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)