Luyện nghe bài hát Ruff Ruff

[krs-one] * echoing*
Think you dope? want title?
Then you better come step up or off!

[freddie
Yo check this out, all aside
Let's get

Word! blastmaster in the house
Hah, everybody for some reason wanna be a
You don't know nuttin about bein no

[freddie
Worrrrrrrd up! check this out
This is freddie
And guess what's

Every wan fi chat, they wan fi chat, they wan fi chat
Every wan fi chat, but ju knows dem is wack
posse wan fi chat, they wan fi chat, they wan fi chat
Every wan fi chat, but ju knows dem is wack
posse wan fi chat, but ju knows dem is wack
They jump pon the mic, an' wan fi do it dat
But ahh, now dis a krs, me nah dat
When me up to work, I put a cape on me back
Then me, fly all around the emcee
Krs, the artical, is not to be [*changes patois*]
Fucked with, ? with, or with
Don't give a if you wanna riff
But when you say kris, already of kris
My lift and that ass I get with (huh)
As a of fact, I attack, hijack
Set back, career, like a quarterback
That his back, my tongue is like a bat
Your get black, you'll need an icepack (rrrrruff!)
I'm all that, come with your whole
You'll be prayin to the God of
So foxxx, it's time to get tough [uh-huh]
Just, get on the mic and get ruff,

[freddie
Soon as I flex, cause I'm about to rip up
It's the return of the hip-hop master, freddie the
(bo!) rappers that see me, even speak, just walk
Cause I'm the maddest nigga in new (hah!)
I see a in the crowd that I don't like
I wanna fight, so I drop the mic
I'ma off the stage, bumrush your crowd to whip
(suckers) that wanna be
How I heard it said that a pimp'll his ass
If his hoe won't, but freddie don't
Cover your chest g, you better wear a bulletproof see
Cause I'm about to leave this place a motherfuckin
Open on the floor as I explore
Rappers that wanted to be more than number
Number one's a hard spot; either you
Or get shot, so this is I got (bo!)
Three tec-9's, my uzi, ten grenades, my razor
And I aim to get paid!
So who wanna step to this, don't soft
Cause i'ma straight up knock off (pom! pom!)
And the cops come to get me
I'ma a dead body, and bop ten cops with me
I'm sick and tired of rappers talk smack
who's nice, and who's whack, motherfuck that
They know my style, and my rep, stage
That I on - I was the rapper they slept on
But rappers keep sleepin - cause when they plant
Bombs in your house, wake you up and punch you
In your motherfuckin mouth, knock your out
Take your sons to safety, cause they're just
And I wanna raise em to me
And they get a little bigga
I'ma mark them little niggaz, and put fingerprints
On the trigger -- double homicide, the vice
Another rapper and his with no life
Yeah you're mr. tough and, you're full of and
And freddie foxxx you bluffin
I got you in my chamber and you scream
Oh God damn, like _silence of the lambs_
But I mangle em and eat em
I take to the war zone, and there I defeat em
It gets much worse, every verse
As the f-o-x-x-x, hurts!
Punishes, stomps, smashes, crushes,
You know my name!
kris! I'm rhymin long enough (say what? )
Get on the mic and get ruff,

This is the that I go all out (why? )
what I'm all about (and)
I don't eat with the sauerkraut (cause)
Because I don't eat pork from the to the snout
(well it) get on down, to the hip hip hop
I start, peace to scott larock! (word)
Now let me the style that has action
Cause mc's don't believe they're rappin
lost, crazy mixed-up in their identity
This is not, what hip-hop is to be (word up)
I come unique, I can't be beat, hardcore
For the kids, with a on their feet
(kick it) I don't compete, I and delete ya
Then critique ya, all mc's retreat, here comes the
Chewin like smuckers
Hittin on, sittin on, on, flippin on motherfuckers
Yeah, I'm the movie _aliens_
I hide inside your right hand man, when you you got me
Bam! my comes out your chest
A mess of nastyness
Chunks of flesh, yes krs on the slaughter
in instant rhyme style, you simply add water
Evian, I the string then
Ring-ding-ding,
in the days, I wrote +south bronx+
The juice crew got stomped, two shot
Pom! pom! it was magic's fault
Always wanna diss somebody, he got put to a
It's wack, when a dj babbles on
Soupin up to battle on song
That's wrong, but in any event, I the classic
In the original it ain't plastic
Everybody know, bdp, is fantastic, like acid
Credit card plastic, like elastic
Love and respect is the
Bam! in your face
Krs in the
I never liked listening to bitches and anyway
(fi-yah!)

[freddie
Well you know I hoes, cause I'm a mack
But I like the wack tracks, youknowhati'msayin?
And for all suckers out there
That the militant mack, get the bo-zack
You know what I (word) word!

You why?
Every posse wan fi chat, wan fi chat, they wan fi chat
posse wan fi chat, but ya knows dey is wack
Every wan fi chat, they wan fi chat, you know dem a wack
Every posse wan fi chat, but ya dey is wack

foxxx]
Yes.. fresh.. for nineteen-ninety-two you suckers * *

Motherfuckers! brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! * to fade *