So what punk, you could battle in a second
'Cuz most of your rap mags are all stuck together
In my face they screaming, "We're not worthy"
It's my philosophy, but for now it's in the corridor
I'm rolling hard like God for the squad black
Packin' them poppers bitch, where that money be at?
Slappin' caps like a ball, hittin' hard to my labrador
It appears to me you don't know who you fuckin' with
I'm flashy like white linen
If you're feeling lucky duck, then press your luck
Or Yoko Ono, but KRS, oh, no, no
Up, up, up and away 'cuz I don't play clown
These motherfuckers don't want it
Sendin' niggaz outta town, still got control of the Boogie Down
You might think you a ROTC, but I don't give a fuck though
My style is too curvy, what you tellin' me
It's Fat Joe, yo, you know my steelo
Rap magazine dating back to, Tougher than Leather
True indeed, behind my back MC's claim they can serve me
Other rappers dull like copper, the certified fake nigga dropper
Yes, I am the ultimate, uttering ultimatum's for the fun of it
I know your kind, you rap write
Telecro bwotty mon, how you collect
'Fore I slap you way back in the dayz like Ahmad
All we do is spark izm and get cash
If you're feeling lucky duck, then press your luck
Don't get caught up in my sector, or I'ma haveta inject ya
If you're feeling lucky duck, then press your luck
Which borough, is the thorough
My crew don't let up, I be dead up in this piece
The only reason you got, such an extensive rap collection
Fat Joe the true and living will prevail
(Bo, bo, bo, bo)
(Word to mother Joe, these niggaz don't want it)
We be the kings of the Boogie Down
Recognize it's BlastMaster KRS-One
If I'm on your dick my name has got to be syphillis
Can't hang with my vocals, better you fuck with Sonny Bono
Fake MC's and wannabe's best to quote this
(Yeah)
Now how the fuck you sound?
Don't get me fed up or vexed up 'cuz you'll get set up
Buck, buck, buck take that witcha on the way down
Kingpin like Sonny up in Bronx Tale
Up, up, up and away 'cuz I don't play clown
I'm out for Bronx and Monopoly with chicks on top of me
Watch what you sayin', watch what you say
Your rap is under pressure like two outs tied score in the ninth inning
With a slab of this lyrical dope shit
With KRS-One up in your memory
I'm the nigga catchin' bodies, while other niggaz fantasize about it
I know, do you know, let me know I'm sayin' though
Buck, buck, buck, take that witcha on the way down
The coke connector, sweating leather with reflectors
And of course we're gonna bring the noise, 'cause we can never be toys
But your flimsy ass will go home after the battle and find I'm your boss
If you're feeling lucky duck, then press your luck
Merrrcy, you wanna serve me but you ain't worthy
When your skull gets cracked, whatcha gonna say crackhead?
Aiyyo I be the show stopper, as I shine like gold
(Tell 'em)
As we proceed to lock it down, don't get it fucked up
Your file is dead, kneel to the rap God in bed
You're Mr. John Gotti, the Don, but you're just another bwotty mon
I be touring, while you be home taping
C'mon G, you clowns ain't got a fucking thing on me
Frankly the bottom line, is where's your hit record
Youse a has been, actually you ain't been
I'm down with Kris and ain't no stopping me
You can't see this with bifocals cause you're local
(Tell 'em)
Will I fail? I doubt it
You claim I'm jocking, claim I'm on your dick, where's your witnesses?
Ain't no army that could harm me or bomb me
It is a 'Relativity Records' product, artist, Fat Joe, my name is KRS-One
Get so much love, I'm payin' sixteen on a kilo
Tortuing MC's like that warden up in Alcatraz
