Mortal Thought - KRS-One

You never will conquer the champion

You never will conquer the champion

Calm down my selector

Adjust that treble right now adjust the bass

Turn it up, stop frontin'

C'mon, turn it up

Alright, check it out ninety-three lyrics, here we go

I never want a jheri curl up under my hat

The woman in my bed has got to be strictly black

I never want money if my lyrics are wack

So I must, rock, the mic

I play only the reggae and I play only rap

I rock the African, the European, and Jap

Beneath I got to show you that I am all that

So I must, rock, the mic

Are you tired of lyrical liars, passing fliers

Wannabe MC's but really good triers

Tripping over mic cords, getting you bored

A total fraud, this kind of thing I can't afford

So I pick up the mic and kill it ill it top bill it

The cough is a skillet, where MC's get fried in it

You got beef chill it, blood I spill it

After seven long years of ripping the party and I'm still widdit

You call my name I don't think about suing ya

I come to the club with that booyaka

Laughing while I'm doin' ya the crowd is booin' ya

Gimme one month, record for record on tape I'll ruin ya

Some likkle awl pon sound bwoy wanna if rule de city

His style is lookin' pretty beats and rhymes are dibby dibby

Here comes the rootical ratical teacha

I'll eat ya defeat ya beat ya till ya stagger and ya teeth chatter

You'll be goin' through convulsions as I flash data

Any rapper can be a decapitated rapper now what's the matter

You're full of more junk than a sausage

Let me show you what a real hip hop artist

My posse from the Bronx

My posse from the Bronx

My posse from the Bronx

My posse from the Bronx

I never want a jheri curl up under my hat

The woman in my bed has got to be strictly black

I never want money if my lyrics are wack

So I must, rock, the mic

I play only the reggae and I play only rap

I rock the African, the European, and Jap

Beneath I got to show you that I am all that

So I must, rock, the mic

Of course, yeah I'm the most brilliant recording artist in your life

Never have to repeat a rhyme style twice, precise

In a lyrical drought like water to your lips oh yes my lyrics will suffice

I'm nice, like beans and rice, I am delicious

Who's the freshest lyricist on the mic, you don't want to fuck with Kris is

Lyric for lyric rhyme for rhyme style for style I break you like dishes

Either you come fully correct or the lyrics you simply makin' wishes

We got no time for fake black leaders and dreamers blowin' wishes

You see a fraud, I mean a fraud like in fraudulation

I know what it is, the crown of rhyme supremacy you're tastin'

And yes, before the flavor hits your greedy tongue

You get ripped up by KRS-One

Now, lyrics, somebody want lyrics, from the lyrical terrorist

Here's a little somethin for you all to remember Kris

And remember this I am no pessimist, more of an optimist

Activist revolutionist, yes the hardest artist

And the smartest, Premier, spark this

My posse from the Bronx

My posse from the Bronx

My posse from the Bronx

My posse from the Bronx

I never want a jheri curl up under my hat

The woman in my bed has got to be strictly black

I never want money if my lyrics are wack

So I must, rock, the mic

I play only the reggae and I play only rap

I rock the African, the European, and Jap

Beneath I got to show you that I am all that

So I must, rock, the mic