[Intro: Killah Priest (Masta Killa)]

Let it flow, deh-deh-duh (Yeah)

It's on (Beh-deh-deh-deh)

(Den-e-neh) on... (Yo, ayo)

[Chorus]

Keep on knowing what you know

Keep on knowing what you know

End up, up, up, in chains, chains, chains

[Verse 1: Masta Killa]

Yo, ayo, back in '88, son was getting a little paper

Caught a few stings, rocked the phat rope cables

Pushed the white Mercury Sable, known for holding heat

Ferragamo moc's on his feet, serpents whisper

You can smell the deceit, they greet me like peeps, to blend

And try to befriend, to get up underneath the skin

My long wind'll blow your head piece degrees

Murder One Team, Barcelini Noodle had lean

"Microphone Fiend", step into the rhythm

This is how I'm serving them, no need for medic attention

I just murder them (Murder them), pussy, I just murder them

[Chorus]

Keep on knowing what you know

Keep on knowing what you know

End up, up, up, in chains, chains, chains

[Verse 2: R.A. the Rugged Man]

I'm a dip-dip diver, socializer

I'm a who flat top rule, in eighty-0niner

They say, "Rugged, by now you should have at least blown!"

It's funny, I'm mad famous for being unknown

I'm just a dirty motherfucker, they hate my guts

All I talk about is bitches and busting nuts

Yeah, I got a foul mouth, yeah, I cuss too much

I'm just so Ricky Ricardo, ridiculous

And I ain't got no fly whip, I still ride the bus

I got Mitch Blood Green on the scene with us

Hospitable, hittable, cooler than Digable, criminal

Miracle, lyrical, take every syllable literal

It'll riddle, profitable, visible, irritable

Little brittle pitiful fists will do little but tickle, you typical

Yeah, I talk shit, I'm cocky with it

It's hard for you to admit it, but I'm one of the best in it

[Chorus]

They keep on knowing what you know

Keep on knowing what you know

End up, up, up, in chains, chains, chains

[Verse 3: Killah Priest]

My mind is haunted, filled with the extension of slaves

That's torment, slow down my steps, one foot from the grave

To carnage, our young Black males, they lick pon gay

Sun of the morning, roast they souls, tell Minister come pray

It's gun trade inside of smoky apartments

Flow process, one nine, two TECs, four revolvers

Coke overboiling kettles, it's like we struck oil in the ghettos

We supply it to addicts

The Devil work, he practice, he's like a search backwards

'Til they throw that dirt in our casket and that's it

I live where the fiends are nothing, just a scene of the projects

We are similar to Osama's

An old man, at the top of the stairs, he just stare

'Cause his mind ain't there, victim of the war, polar signs, the times is near

He drop the jewels 'til you buy him a beer

He said he was a linebacker for the Bears

Said he did it all back, while he's drying his tears

Yeah, it's that real shit, that made me

That music from the '80s, the childs of the '70s

I live long 'til they bury me