Released: February 20, 1996
Featuring: KRS-One
Songwriter: KRS-One Lord Finesse
Producer: Lord Finesse
[Intro: KRS-One]
Lord Finesse and Blastmaster KRS-One
Lyrical styles weigh a ton
Lord Finesse, we know you got skills
Come into the cypher and build
Chill out, all emcee I kill
Come down
[Verse 1: Lord Finesse]
Check it out, come on, here’s your chance to swing
With some ill motherfuckers, we don’t dance and sing
In ‘95 we’re out jingling, serving
Poetic Justice without that nigga John Singleton
I do my thing while the fans be gelling. Ayyo
I’m so dope, you better tap your man and tell him
I don’t fake moves, I scrape crews, I make brothers
Break food—just give me a beat with a bass groove
I’m mad funky—ask the experts—‘cause I’ll
Make you bob your head until your motherfucking neck hurt
So don’t ask me to max, G, ‘cause if you
Ain’t real, I’m bringing it to your face like acne
Now rappers run scams and flimflams
On how they be getting loose when they’re rusty like the Tin Man
They rap fast, trying to stack cash, but on
The reel-to-reel, yo, they’re still sounding half-assed
Yelling and screaming like they got something when they don’t
Got nothing, so them niggas need to stop fronting
Talking how they be ragging shit when I don’t know if them
Niggas are rapping or talking motherfucking Arabic
They act so ill. Ay, no frills, they should go
Chill. They all mouth with no skills
When I’m around, they all feel funny ‘cause I’m
Young, making funds like Shaquille O’Neal, money
You want any drama? You better wear plenty armor
I’ll cut that ass like the chef at Benihana’s
The Funky Man’s in it to win it. We gotta keep it
Real, yo, no motherfucking gimmicks
[Hook: Lord Finesse]
Whoever make a hit they the best (That’s a gimmick). You sell
Records based on how you’re dressed (That’s a gimmick). Ayyo
That tongue-twisting shit, that’s kind of fresh (That’s a gimmick). What’s when
You’re soft but you’re fronting like you’re stressed? (That’s a gimmick). What’s when
You’re only into rap to get paid? (That’s a gimmick). What’s when
You’re yelling and screaming up on stage? (That’s a gimmick). When your
Career is numbered by days? (That’s a gimmick). What’s when
Your lyrical style is just a phase? (That’s a gimmick)
[Verse 2: KRS-One]
Yeah, check it out. A-yes
Yes, y’all, to the beat, y’all, bringing the street, let me
Put my beeper on “vibrate” so we won’t hear it beep. Representing
The street, concrete what I speak, yeah, I live it. Let it
Be known KRS is not about a gimmick. I’ll grab the
Mic and rip it. Meanwhile, they’re stalling. I’ll raise the mic
Stand because I’m tall and I keep the crowd crawling
I’m not like those other rappers talking about the caps
They peel. Punk, I’ll battle emcees for real
Fuck a record deal when you’re still into hip hopping with your
Country ass, sounding like you’re still picking cotton
You’ll get thrown across the room in that direction. Listen
The lyrical Teacha’s not the one you should be checking. This is
My eara or era or eara, whatever
I’m mad clever, I’ll “Shoop,” you’ll doop, you’ll doop like Salt-N-Pepa
Lyrical terror, you should never ever come for mine
When I rhyme, I clean up emcees with the fresh smell of pine. I
Got skills and it shows—you could slow or speed up
The tempo. Your style is fake like Janet Jackson’s nose
I’m selling that real live shit, and you could get hurt
You’re selling that fake shit like the Home Shopping Network
You got a lot of rhymes to battle in a second
But frankly, the bottom line is: where’s your hit record?
You claim I’m jocking, you claim I’m on your dick. Where’s your witness?
If I’m on your dick, my name has got to be syphilis
I come with lyrical, physical fitness. Two months
From now, you will have bit this. Watch me light that ass up like Christmas
Don’t let me come out on that ass, start flipping
The lyrics I’ll be kicking be hotter than jerk chicken
So whether from The East or from The West, brothers know I’m KRS
I got force, I came to your town to set it off
So when Finesse goes “hit it,” I’ll never mimic
KRS-One could never use a gimmick
[Hook: Lord Finesse]
When you’re riding the next rapper’s dick (That’s a gimmick). When you’re
R&B and then you cold flip (That’s a gimmick). Start rhyming
Hardcore just to get a hit (That’s a gimmick). When you get over
But your skills ain’t shit (That’s a gimmick). When you
Rap but you don’t have soul (That’s a gimmick). When you
Cross over just to go gold (That’s a gimmick). When you’re not
A gangster but portraying a role (That’s a gimmick). What’s when
You’re shaped in somebody else’s mold? (That’s a gimmick)
[Verse 3: Lord Finesse]
Man your station ‘cause the clan you’re facing is stepping
To you trash motherfuckers like sanitation. I’ll shoot
And throw rhymes, the whole nine when it’s showtime
(What up, kid?) Brothers know I could hold mine
On the real, I got rhymes skills. When the time’s
Ill, I’m blowing up spots like a minefield
Brothers front with their chest out, but
Words from Finesse mouth’ll leave them niggas stressed out
They make me sick to my stomach (So put it)
(On ‘em, kid!) Them motherfuckers don’t want it
They can’t see me, believe me. They’re all
Phonies like them niggas that be wrestling on TV
Yo, they’re nowhere near pro, and niggas
Couldn’t hang if they was motherfucking scarecrows
Nowadays, a lot of rappers sound fake, talking that
Gangster shit when they’re softer than a pound cake
So why you fronting with the burner, kid? When you done
Took more ass-whippings than fucking Tina Turner did
You wanna front? So be it, but fuck
Beating around the bush. I just speak how I see it
Me fall off? That shit’s dead, it’s not
Happening, kid, so get that shit through your thick head
I’ll never sellout—(What?)—you heard right
I’ll never cross over (Aight!), word life
So when I said it, peep the method. If I
Never go gold but get credit, I won’t sweat it
In ‘95 we’re all in it, we gotta keep it
Real, yo, no motherfucking gimmicks
[Hook: Lord Finesse]
What’s when you
Rap but don’t appreciate the art? (That’s a gimmick). What’s when you
Sell out just to get a start? (That’s a gimmick). What’s when you
Make bullshit just for the charts? (That’s a gimmick). What’s when you
Rap but it’s not from the heart? (That’s a gimmick). What’s when you’re
Hardcore, then you turn pop? (That’s a gimmick)
When you steal ideas to get props? (That’s a gimmick)
When you sell out to be on top? (That’s a gimmick). What’s when you
Front like you’re hard but you’re not? (That’s a gimmick)
[Outro: KRS-One]
Now let this be a lesson to all emcees and DJ’s
Anyone that come across the line will have to pay
Real hip hop is in effect
Real hip hop is in effect
Real hip hop is in effect
Give it respect, we catch wreck
Lord Finesse and Blastmaster KRS-One
Lyrical styles weigh a ton
Lord Finesse, we know you got skills
Come into the cypher and build
Chill out, all emcee I kill
Come down
[Verse 1: Lord Finesse]
Check it out, come on, here’s your chance to swing
With some ill motherfuckers, we don’t dance and sing
In ‘95 we’re out jingling, serving
Poetic Justice without that nigga John Singleton
I do my thing while the fans be gelling. Ayyo
I’m so dope, you better tap your man and tell him
I don’t fake moves, I scrape crews, I make brothers
Break food—just give me a beat with a bass groove
I’m mad funky—ask the experts—‘cause I’ll
Make you bob your head until your motherfucking neck hurt
So don’t ask me to max, G, ‘cause if you
Ain’t real, I’m bringing it to your face like acne
Now rappers run scams and flimflams
On how they be getting loose when they’re rusty like the Tin Man
They rap fast, trying to stack cash, but on
The reel-to-reel, yo, they’re still sounding half-assed
Yelling and screaming like they got something when they don’t
Got nothing, so them niggas need to stop fronting
Talking how they be ragging shit when I don’t know if them
Niggas are rapping or talking motherfucking Arabic
They act so ill. Ay, no frills, they should go
Chill. They all mouth with no skills
When I’m around, they all feel funny ‘cause I’m
Young, making funds like Shaquille O’Neal, money
You want any drama? You better wear plenty armor
I’ll cut that ass like the chef at Benihana’s
The Funky Man’s in it to win it. We gotta keep it
Real, yo, no motherfucking gimmicks
[Hook: Lord Finesse]
Whoever make a hit they the best (That’s a gimmick). You sell
Records based on how you’re dressed (That’s a gimmick). Ayyo
That tongue-twisting shit, that’s kind of fresh (That’s a gimmick). What’s when
You’re soft but you’re fronting like you’re stressed? (That’s a gimmick). What’s when
You’re only into rap to get paid? (That’s a gimmick). What’s when
You’re yelling and screaming up on stage? (That’s a gimmick). When your
Career is numbered by days? (That’s a gimmick). What’s when
Your lyrical style is just a phase? (That’s a gimmick)
[Verse 2: KRS-One]
Yeah, check it out. A-yes
Yes, y’all, to the beat, y’all, bringing the street, let me
Put my beeper on “vibrate” so we won’t hear it beep. Representing
The street, concrete what I speak, yeah, I live it. Let it
Be known KRS is not about a gimmick. I’ll grab the
Mic and rip it. Meanwhile, they’re stalling. I’ll raise the mic
Stand because I’m tall and I keep the crowd crawling
I’m not like those other rappers talking about the caps
They peel. Punk, I’ll battle emcees for real
Fuck a record deal when you’re still into hip hopping with your
Country ass, sounding like you’re still picking cotton
You’ll get thrown across the room in that direction. Listen
The lyrical Teacha’s not the one you should be checking. This is
My eara or era or eara, whatever
I’m mad clever, I’ll “Shoop,” you’ll doop, you’ll doop like Salt-N-Pepa
Lyrical terror, you should never ever come for mine
When I rhyme, I clean up emcees with the fresh smell of pine. I
Got skills and it shows—you could slow or speed up
The tempo. Your style is fake like Janet Jackson’s nose
I’m selling that real live shit, and you could get hurt
You’re selling that fake shit like the Home Shopping Network
You got a lot of rhymes to battle in a second
But frankly, the bottom line is: where’s your hit record?
You claim I’m jocking, you claim I’m on your dick. Where’s your witness?
If I’m on your dick, my name has got to be syphilis
I come with lyrical, physical fitness. Two months
From now, you will have bit this. Watch me light that ass up like Christmas
Don’t let me come out on that ass, start flipping
The lyrics I’ll be kicking be hotter than jerk chicken
So whether from The East or from The West, brothers know I’m KRS
I got force, I came to your town to set it off
So when Finesse goes “hit it,” I’ll never mimic
KRS-One could never use a gimmick
[Hook: Lord Finesse]
When you’re riding the next rapper’s dick (That’s a gimmick). When you’re
R&B and then you cold flip (That’s a gimmick). Start rhyming
Hardcore just to get a hit (That’s a gimmick). When you get over
But your skills ain’t shit (That’s a gimmick). When you
Rap but you don’t have soul (That’s a gimmick). When you
Cross over just to go gold (That’s a gimmick). When you’re not
A gangster but portraying a role (That’s a gimmick). What’s when
You’re shaped in somebody else’s mold? (That’s a gimmick)
[Verse 3: Lord Finesse]
Man your station ‘cause the clan you’re facing is stepping
To you trash motherfuckers like sanitation. I’ll shoot
And throw rhymes, the whole nine when it’s showtime
(What up, kid?) Brothers know I could hold mine
On the real, I got rhymes skills. When the time’s
Ill, I’m blowing up spots like a minefield
Brothers front with their chest out, but
Words from Finesse mouth’ll leave them niggas stressed out
They make me sick to my stomach (So put it)
(On ‘em, kid!) Them motherfuckers don’t want it
They can’t see me, believe me. They’re all
Phonies like them niggas that be wrestling on TV
Yo, they’re nowhere near pro, and niggas
Couldn’t hang if they was motherfucking scarecrows
Nowadays, a lot of rappers sound fake, talking that
Gangster shit when they’re softer than a pound cake
So why you fronting with the burner, kid? When you done
Took more ass-whippings than fucking Tina Turner did
You wanna front? So be it, but fuck
Beating around the bush. I just speak how I see it
Me fall off? That shit’s dead, it’s not
Happening, kid, so get that shit through your thick head
I’ll never sellout—(What?)—you heard right
I’ll never cross over (Aight!), word life
So when I said it, peep the method. If I
Never go gold but get credit, I won’t sweat it
In ‘95 we’re all in it, we gotta keep it
Real, yo, no motherfucking gimmicks
[Hook: Lord Finesse]
What’s when you
Rap but don’t appreciate the art? (That’s a gimmick). What’s when you
Sell out just to get a start? (That’s a gimmick). What’s when you
Make bullshit just for the charts? (That’s a gimmick). What’s when you
Rap but it’s not from the heart? (That’s a gimmick). What’s when you’re
Hardcore, then you turn pop? (That’s a gimmick)
When you steal ideas to get props? (That’s a gimmick)
When you sell out to be on top? (That’s a gimmick). What’s when you
Front like you’re hard but you’re not? (That’s a gimmick)
[Outro: KRS-One]
Now let this be a lesson to all emcees and DJ’s
Anyone that come across the line will have to pay
Real hip hop is in effect
Real hip hop is in effect
Real hip hop is in effect
Give it respect, we catch wreck