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