My Philosophy lyrics

Artist  : Krs One 
Song : My Philosophy



 Send "My Philosophy" Ringtone to your Cell 

 So, you're a philosopher?

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes

I think very deeply, I think very deeply, I think
very deeply

I think, I think, I think very deeply, I think, I
think very deeply



Let's begin, what, where, why, or when

Will all be explained like instructions to a
game

See I'm not insane, in fact, I'm kind of
rational

When I be asking you, "Who is more
dramatical?"

This one or that one, the white one or the black
one

Pick the punk, and I'll jump up to attack one

KRS-One is just the guy to lead a crew

Right up to your face and ditched you



Everyone saw me on the last album cover

Holding a pistol something far from a lover

Beside my brother, S C O T T

I just laughed, 'cause no one can defeat me

This is lecture number two, 'My Philosophy'

Number one, was 'Poetry' you know it's me

This is my philosophy, many artists got to
learn

I'm not flammable, I don't burn



So please stop burnin', and learn to earn
respect

'Cause that's just what KR collects

See, what do you expect when you rhyme like a
soft punk

You walk down the street and get jumped

You got to have style, and learn to be
original

And everybody's gonna wanna diss you

Like me, we stood up for the South Bronx

And every sucka mc had a response



You think we care? I know that they are on the
tip

My posse from the Bronx is thick and we're real
live, we walk correctly

A lot of suckas would like to forget me but they
can't

'Cause like a champ, I have got a record of
knocking out

The frauds in a second on the mic, I believe that
you should get loose

I haven't come to tell you I got juice

I just produce, create, innovate on a higher
level

I'll be back, but for now just seckle



I'll play the nine and you play the target

You all know my name so I guess I'll just start
it

Or should I say, start this, I am an artist

Of new concepts at their hardest

Yo, 'cause I'm a teacher, the Scott is a
scholar

It ain't about money 'cause we all make
dollars

That's why I walk with my head up

When I hear wack rhymes I get fed up



Rap is like a set-up, a lot of games

A lot of suckas with colorful names

I'm so-and-so, I'm this, I'm that

Huh, but they all just wick-wick-wack

I'm not white or red or black

I'm brown from the Boogie Down

Productions, of course our music be thumpin'

Others say they're bad, but they're buggin'



Let me tell you somethin' now about hip hop

About D-Nice, Melodie, and Scott La Rock

I'll get a pen, a pencil, a marker

Mainly what I write is for the average New
Yorker

Some mc's be talkin' and talkin'

Tryin' to show how black people are walkin'

But I don't walk this way to portray

Or reinforce stereotypes of today



Like all my brothas eat chicken and watermelon

Talk broken English and drug sellin'

See I'm tellin', and teaching real facts

The way some act in rap is kind of wack

And it lacks creativity and intelligence

But they don't care 'cause the company is sellin'
it

It's my philosophy, on the industry

Don't bother dissin' me, or even wish that
we'd



Soften, dilute, or commercialize all the
lyrics

'Cause it's about time one of y'all hear it

And hear it first-hand from the intelligent brown
man

A vegetarian, no goat 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 Scott La Rock



How many mc's must get dissed

Before somebody says, don't with Kris

This is just one style, out of many

Like a piggy bank, this is one penny

My brother's name is Kenny, that's, Kenny
Parker

My other brother I.C.U. is much darker

Boogie Down Productions is made up of teachers

The lecture is conducted from the mic into the
speaker



Who gets weaker? The king or the teacher

It's not about a salary it's all about reality

Teachers teach and do the world good

Kings just rule and most are never understood

If you were to rule or govern a certain
industry

All inside this room right now would be in
misery

No one would get along nor sing a song

'Cause everyone'd be singing for the king, am I
wrong?



So yo, what's up, it's me again

Scott La Rock, KRS, BDP again

Many people had the nerve

To think that we would end the trend

We're criminal minded, an album which is only
ten

Funky, funky, funky, funky, funky hit records

No more than four minutes and some seconds



The competition checks and checks and keeps
checkin'

They take the album, take it home, and start
sweatin'

Why? well it's simple, to them it's kind of
vital

To take KRS-One's title

To them I'm like an idol, some type of entity

In everybody's rhyme they wanna mention me?

Or rather mention us, me or Scott La Rock

But they can get bust get robbed, get dropped



I don't play around nor do I f around

And you can tell by the bodies that are left
around

When some clown jumps up to get beat down

Broken down to his very last compound

See how it sounds? A little unrational

A lot of mc's like to use the word dramatical

Fresh for '88, you suckas