I Get Wrecked by Tim Dog
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)]
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 another one, ho (ho)
Do I get wreck at any show (ho)
Lyrically I got the flow (ho), there ya go
[Verse One: KRS-One]
What does KRS and Tim Dog have in common
We both hate corny ass 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, fuck all that
What you see you see, what you hear you hear
When you cheer and you cheer, I'm every fresh 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 ass out like a faggot
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 you're apple, smash you into Snapple
I'm not, the one you wanna battle that bad
Or just give me your ass 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
Fuck 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 shit it out with Ex-Lax
Bitch ass niggaz step aside
Tenderoni rappers, means your homicide
Toyin non-believers, here's the menace side
Shit 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 suckin your girl while your ass in school
Fool, why bother 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 ass that's word is born
Rarrrrrgh!
[Chorus: Tim Dog (KRS-One)]
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 bitches, real renegade rap rebels rip rhymes
Ferociously, which one of these pussy MC's can go at me
So if you wish to play me like a farmer
I get calmer, chop ya ass up like Jeffrey Dahmer
My pyschopathic fantastic pathic puts you in a casket
On top of that, you can get your ass kicked
Quick, awww shit
(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 fuck 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 bullshit rap down the street
A skippedy be bop be bop, Scooby Doo
That bullshit's not me, that bullshit is you
I come correct, get much respect
Do some hummina hummina shit, and still get wreck
Cause I'm the Dog, the muthafuckin Dog ya hear
I'm the Dog, the muthafuckin Dog ya hear
MC's come close but never could get near
Cause I just smash, throwin keys through glass
Take his cash, whip his ass, and do a yard dash
So take your ass 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 bullshit
I do the same shit, 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- sexual I bet you will
Be on the dick if it turns into a hit
But that type of shit is jumpin the fuck 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]
|
