Norty Cotto - Slap Them Up lyrics

Intro ~~~~~ [D.J. Premier] Tellin' it like it is, right about now D.J. Premier is in the Motherf**in' house and sh**, ya know what I'm sayin'? But yo Yo Kris, run that sh**, ya know what I'm sayin'? That, that sh** My joint. Run that motherf**er...it's only right kid... [KRS-One] (Do it, do it, do it...) Drop that ba**line... 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 sh** [but sink no motherf**in' ships] Lyrics make bigger holes than hollow tips Watch another rapper body get stiff Just like in church, we pa** the basket As I preach over his casket f** it, kick the body right over And say "See ya, hmm...nice to know ya" Got another rapper to see Yo Kris, bust that a** [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 a** 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 k**'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 sk**s will Don't let me have to k** 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 rhyme 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 b**h, 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 a** in the deep dirt Black, you'll come up dizzy sayin' "How da f** 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 sk**s 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 motherf**in' 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?