talk faster I'm the Blastmaster, 'cos I'm blasted I know a lot of y'all are shocked that I've lasted But Blastmaster is a subtitle, KRS-One is more vital
Or chicken or Turkey or hamburger 'Cause to me that's suicide self-murder Let us get back to what we call hip hop And what it meant to DJ Scott La Rock
boy in a car Be the Kid in Kid Rock, with the baw, with the baw Be hard as law, what you saw is law Once again my friend, it's DJ Run on tour Like DJ
just ducked Ooh, whatcha gonna do Ooh, whatcha gonna do Ooh, whatcha gonna do Ooh, whatcha gonna do Now mic check and respect, come correct and I can protect You never knew, DJ
a parrot says "Polly want a cracker" [Erick Sermon] It was a record test, nothing we can't handle At the house they had the mics on the mantle Looked at the DJ
niggaz to represent, va the right way We gets in it and pussy dudes get fried If you birthin wack rhymes, get yo' motherfuckin tubes tied [kalonji] Yes, conceived at logic like spock I posess the vital
a vice, make sure he never writes in his life. When its time for me to display(stay the fuck out the way), and when its time for you to dj you gon' play
Intro: Skills, skills, skills [DJ Premier Scratching] "My Microphone" "It's Skills"-KRS One "The funky beat" "It's skills"-KRS One [Chorus: Guru] (Skills
or ham Or chicken or turkey or hamburger 'Cause to me that's suicide Self-murder Let us get back to what we call hip hop And what it meant to DJ Scot
jerked Due to the fact that they're wack and their tracks Have to go back and stack 'cause they lack The ingredients . . . epmd and scratch for that . . . *dj
just like a jazz player Your record player ain't nothin without the funky rhyme sayer Kool G. Rap, cause to the little I'm an idol Attackin the vital
your eardrum Musical outcome, lyrical tantrum Energy enters me, power absorbed Phonograph arts and crafts mic warlord Kool G Rap the lyric dictator DJ
to my crew Biz Markie, DJ Cool V, TJ Swan, Big Daddy Kane, Mister Cee, Roxanne Shant? MC Shan, My manager Fly Ty, Mr. Magic, my DJ Polo, Doc the Butcher
Romantinc styling the world En la monarquia Mi nena bella Mi estrella DJ Flex te canta esta cancion Ay na, na, na, nai Ay na, na, na, nai, nai (
groove They get right in the mood for loving, oh yeah And if the weedman in the place There's no time for pushing and shoving, oh You see the DJ on the
a young buck who grew up with mud on his face. So I spread love if you pass the time hearing this sighing out is Eso Mud and the glassy eyed lyricist. (DJ
ozo lekaleka na voiture na yo ya chere tiaka pe Liputa na coffre, po ofini kaka ba e ba kufa malili ya bolingo. Maitre Giles l'initiateur, le pacificateur Vital
