Mortal Thought (i Must Roc The Mic) Lyrics - Krs One

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 

Bo! 

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, roc, 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, roc, 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 wan fi 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 

*DJ Premier cuts and scratches "My posse from the Bronx is thick!"* 

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, roc, 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, roc, 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 

youse 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 

*Premier cuts and scratches "My posse from the Bronx is thick!"* 

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, roc, 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, roc, the mic