Essays on BDP-ism (feat. Scott Larock)

You've got the time

Yo, feel this

Recorded in '87, the last BDP song produced by Scott Larock

I've got the time

You've got the time

Am I supposed to stand here?

These bright lights, I'll probably get a tan here

Scott, turn up the master

So I can hear, and talk faster

I'm the blastmaster, 'cause I'm blasted

I know a lot of y'all are shocked that I've lasted

But blastmaster is a subtitle

KRS-One is more vital

And more lethal, and more vicious

As the suckers always say, "He just dissed us

He got a problem, yo, he's conceited"

I'm not conceited, they just couldn't beat it

'Cause when I'm in a club, I like to mingle

Seconds later, they're playin' that single

Loud as a collision and pumped up dramatically

So the people in the place will automatically

Time it, time it, and dance right behind it

Those that have it on tape will rewind it

It's not surprising, we rock parties

Anywhere, anyone, anybody

Some sound shoddy, like cardboard

But I'm blessed, praise the lord

You see, I like to study, I like money

I like eatin' wheat bread with honey

But to none of these am I addicted

I like to remain free and unafflicted

With the sickness of attachment

The material road of entrapment

Those that walk this road become weak

They can't think, they can't speak

Unself-sufficient, 'cause they're leeching

I'm not dissin', I'm simply teaching

Well, if you notice, not once

Have I said Scott's name to gain fame

See, it's a shame that they're blinded

If they had a piece of paper I'd sign it

That's called an autograph, this is called a class

I've only come to educate the mass of young people

To this, there's no sequel

Just a message, be peaceful

And loving, but not a sucker

And stay away from negative motherfuckers

They only pull you down with their hate

But wait, here's something to meditate

You've got the time

I've got the time

Downratin' statements you always seem to make

You never wanna create, 'cause B-boys, you don't affiliate

You're self-whipped 'cause you claim it's not a gift

To execute the rhyme on time without a shift

You only utter negativity, never productivity

For the B-boy talent or B-boy productivity

Yet when all the currency comes in tax free

You wanna see me?

My name is Kris and now you guessed this

I got X-ray vision and I'm lookin' through your game

It's the same, what a shame, now take aim on what I shall obtain

Absolute respect from you, con, 'cause now you know it

I'm blastmaster KRS-One, short for poet

I do not read the paper, I read the dictionary

'Cause nuclear destruction, yeah, AIDs just doesn't scare me

The girls be lookin' sweeter, the cops be lookin' meaner

Carryin' bigger gun, shoot the people for fun

If you could realize this, you won't be called a toy

But yet a B-boy, and I know you'll enjoy

Just coolin' out without a doubt, livin' life a little different

Yeah, different, never innocent, with a little diligence

I am only twenty, yet here's my present level

Just one of the Boogie Down Production crew rebels

Our reputation grows as the music gets vicious

I will succeed while you suckers make wishes

Time and time again, I prove to be exciting

But time and time again, you prove to be biting

I need no judge, no jury, no lawyers

With DJ Scott Larock, better known as The Destroyer

You've got the time

I've got the time

You've got the time

I've got the time

You've got the time

I've got the time

You've got the time