Текст песни Boogie Down Productions - Ruff Ruff

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Yakniga
Think you dope? Want this title?
Then you better come step up or step off!
Yo check this out, all jokes aside
Let's get busy

Word! Blast master KRS-One in the house
Hah, everybody for some reason wanna be a gangsta
You don't know nuttin' about bein' no gangsta
Word up! Aiyyo check this out
This is Freddie F O X X X
And guess what's next

Every posse wan fi chat, they wan fi chat, they wan fi chat
Every posse wan fi chat, but ju knows dem is wack
Every posse wan fi chat, they wan fi chat, they wan fi chat
Every posse wan fi chat, but ju knows dem is wack
Every posse wan fi chat, but ju knows dem is wack

They jump upon the mic, an' wan fi do it like dat
But ahh, now dis a KRS, me nah takes dat
When me open up to work, I put a cape on me back
Then me, fly all around the emcee world
KRS, the Artical, is not to be
Fucked with, [Incomprehensible] with, or tampered with
Don't give a fuck if you wanna riff
But when you say Kris, already derivative of Kris

My eyebrows lift and that ass I get with
As a matter of fact, I attack, hijack
Set back, your career, like a quarterback
That broke his back, my tongue is like a bat
Your eye'll get black, you'll need an icepack
I'm all that, come with your whole pack
You'll be prayin' to the God of Isaac
So Freddie Foxxx, it's time to get tough
Just, get on the mic and get ruff, ruff

Soon as I flex, 'cause I'm about to rip up shop
It's the return of the hip hop master, Freddie the Foxxx
Rappers that see me, don't even speak, just walk
'Cause I'm the maddest nigga in New York
I see a rapper in the crowd that I don't like
I wanna fight, so when I drop the mic
I'ma jump off the stage, bum rush your crowd to whip
(Suckers)
That wanna be pimps

How I heard it said that a pimp'll sell his ass
If his hoe won't, but Freddie Foxxx don't
Cover your chest G, you better wear a bulletproof vest see
'Cause I'm about to leave this place a motherfuckin' mess
Open hearts on the floor as I explore
Rappers that wanted to be more than number four
Number one's a hard spot, either you fight
Or get shot, so this is what I got

Three Tec-9's, my Uzi, ten grenades, my razor blades
And I aim to get paid
So who wanna step to this, don't come soft
'Cause I'ma straight up knock niggaz off
And when the cops come to get me
I'ma take a dead body, and bop ten cops with me
I'm sick and tired of hearin' rappers talk smack
About who's nice, and who's whack, mother fuck that

They know my style, and my rep, every stage
That I stepped on, I was the rapper they slept on
But y'all rappers keep sleepin' 'cause when they plant
Bombs in your house, I'ma wake you up and punch you
In your motherfuckin' mouth, knock your wife out
Take your sons to safety, 'cause they're just kids
And I wanna raise 'em to face me
And when they get a little bigga

I'ma Mark them little niggaz, and put their fingerprints
On the trigger double homicide, call the vice
Another rapper and his family with no life
Yeah you're Mr. Tough and, you're full of stuff and
And Freddie Foxxx caught you bluffin'

I got you in my torture chamber and you scream
"Oh god damn, it's like silence of the lambs"
But I don't mangle 'em and eat 'em
I take MC's to the war zone, and there I defeat 'em
It gets much worse, with every verse
As the F R E D D I E F O X X X, hurts
Punishes, stomps, smashes, crushes, maims
You suckers know my name!
Aiyyo Kris! I'm rhymin' long enough
(Say what?)
Get on the mic and get ruff, ruff

This is the year that I go all out
(Why?)
Edutainment's what I'm all about
(And)
I don't eat franks with the sauerkraut
('Cause)
Because I don't eat pork from the tail to the snout
(Well kick it)
Get on down, to the hip hip hop
Before I start, peace to Scott La Rock
(Word)
Now let me drop the style that has action
'Cause many MC's don't believe they're rappin'

They're lost, crazy mixed-up in their identity
This is not, what hip hop is meant to be
(Word up)
I come unique, I can't be beat, hardcore street
For the kids, with a hundred and fifty on their feet
(Kick it)
I don't compete, I defeat and delete ya
Then critique ya, all MC's retreat, here comes the t'cha
Chewin' suckers like Smuckers
Hittin' on, sittin' on, shittin' on, flippin' on motherfuckers

Yeah, I'm like the movie Aliens
I hide inside your right hand man, when you think you got me
Bam! My head comes out your chest
A mutilated mess of nastiness
Chunks of bloody flesh, yes KRS on the slaughter
Specialize in instant rhyme style, you simply add water
Avian, I pull the string then
Ring ding ding, ding ding ding ding

Back in the days, I wrote South Bronx
The Juice Crew got stomped, lick two shot
Pom pom, really it was magic's fault
Always wanna diss somebody, he got put to a halt
It's wack, when a sucker DJ babbles on
Soupin' up MC's to battle on song
That's wrong, but in any event, I drop the classic
In 1992 the original it ain't plastic

Everybody know, BDP, is fantastic, burn like acid
Credit card plastic, stretch like elastic
Love and respect is the tactic
Bam! In your motherfuckin' face
KRS in the place
I never liked listening to bitches and hoes anyway

Well you know I like hoes, 'cause I'm a mack
But I don't like the wack tracks, you know what I'm sayin'
And for all your suckers out there
That underestimate the militant mack, get the bo-zack
You know what I mean? Word
(Word)

You know why?
Every posse wan fi chat, they wan fi chat, they wan fi chat
Every posse wan fi chat, but ya knows dey is wack
Every posse wan fi chat, they wan fi chat, you know dem a wack
Every posse wan fi chat, but ya knows dey is wack

Yes fresh for nineteen ninety-two you suckers
Motherfuckers!
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