I hear the same old rhyme the same old style The same old runner has ran the mile See I don't know exactly what you know But what I know is that stuff gotta go Usually when I pick up the mic Something ill jumps out my mouth for that night I like to talk about fact not fiction I got some fantasy rhymes but just listen Everything I write is premeditated Suckas want to fake it I just hate it Bitin' routines or sayin' somethin' kinda weak My words are comprehended every time I speak Or have spoken, no I'm not jokin' Please don't sleep, I hope you are awoken Stop! Try this again, you had enough? Say when I am the man with the six-pack of Heineken I get tipsy But never in your life try to dis me 'cause I don't battle with rhymes, I battle with guns Knowledge reigns supreme over nearly every one If you take the first letter of what I just sung
You spell my name "KRS-One" It's elementary Elementary
DJ Scott LaRock and I, KRS-One Our mother's first son and no, we'll never run From complex situations like you T-O-why-S's Always talkin' junk, yet in jail, you're rockin' dresses I have arrived for the purpose of joy Unlike any ordinary Bronx be -boy I will volunteer my services and launch an attack On you fake educators with your yakety-yak This is a fact, the teacher is here now in the flesh Consistently hounded by you MC pests If you really want to learn from me Don't waste time in burnin' me 'cause ignorance and inexperience does not concern me I will emphasize so you will realize and come alive Never close your eyes, never sleep or you might take a dive Many people hate me, many people love me Some are far below me And you know there's some above me But this, my hypothesis, to conclude the story All you fake MC's on a mission, you bore me I'm the Blastmaster KRS on the mic Watchin' all these females rock their pants too tight 'cause there's no other creative composition on display That give a full analysis and rock this way You will pay, eventually you all will decay While the DJ Scott LaRock will continue to play Cuttin' records, drivin' cars, and you'll know who we are
Make a mix just for kicks And you'll be on our tip And, oh yes, there's a highlight to the show, of course You hear DJ Scott LaRock (Go off! Go off!) (Scott La Rock) (Go off! Go off!) x8 Verse 3: Boogie Down Productions, no reduction to its title If you have a headache, toys, go and take a Midol We have arrived for the purpose of enjoyment You have arrived to make up for unemployment You're on it only 'cause I learned just how to flaunt it I breathed a rhyme upon you like a sickness and you caught it Quick, get off the tip, trick, you must be sick Like a doctor here's my bill, I wrote it out with a Bic Signed my name upon the bottle 'cause you know I just rocked em But gettin' into battles really isn't my thing You're probably thinking these are the rhymes for the century But please don't mention me
It's only elementary Elementary All it really is to me and Scott La Rock, is elementary Elementary Elementary none