Microphone check, one two one two
If a nigga fake jax, I'm gonna kill a MC
Microphone gifted, unrealistic
Sold out crowds, with curiosity
Niggaz better watch they back, the Big Apple's gone rotten
That's the type of mission that I'm on
Shouts to the East and the West coast crew
Shouts to the East and the West coast crew
Microphone check, one two one two
Shouts to the East and the West coast crew
Everybody wants to know, could the man still flip it?
Whatever you do, keep this hip-hop shit true
From the Bronx to Queensbridge, on back to Redhook
Microphone check, one two one two
You, can't, deal with the man
Who's known throughout the industry for pullin' niggaz cards
Shouts to the East and the West coast crew
One time for your mind off the top of a dome
Word to Tone, Big Daddy, I know he's chillin'
I'm tryin' to see cream, in the millions, retire
Whatever you do, keep this hip-hop shit true
Keepin' shit real, niggaz know the deal
You know the situation, Zulu Nation
Never lost a gram on any eighth that I cooked
(That's all I ask of you)
Niggaz be talkin' mad shit, but they don't want it
Hardcore lyrics to all my real motherfuckers
It's the realer MC, the drug dealer MC
And go play golf with Russell Simmons
(That's all I ask of you)
Comin' with the bomb bass for the underground heads
Microphone Joe I own it, bitches wanna bone it
Yeah, you can't handle the truth
Fat Joe, a.k.a. Joey Crack
Whatever you do, keep this hip-hop shit true
Whatever you do, keep this hip-hop shit true
Microphone check, one two one two
Mad lives have been lost and forgotten
Shouts to the East and the West coast crew
(That's all I ask of you)
Never forget the Bronx because the Bronx the foundation
You remember me from, "You know ya got to flow"
You hookers'll never get your hands inside my pockets
Motherfuckers know my rep, I never fronted
Who be holdin' down the fort with the gauge in his hand
When I step in the jam all eyes are on me
Microphone check, one two one two
Fat Joe, army fatigue and black chuckers
(That's all I ask of you)
Blowin' out the tweeters in your musical component
Flex got the most, Serge got the land spread
It's your man Fat Joe, oh, is that so?
The Public Enemy, rapper at large
I know you love the way I grab the mic and spark it
Niggaz be like he's fat, bitches be like he's all that
Here comes the nigga from the East
Peace to all the villains out of state makin' millions 'cause ah
Never leave for home without the motherfuckin' chrome
Whatever you do, keep this hip-hop shit true
Aiyyo, my word is bond, I keep a army just as deep as Farra Khan
Who just been crowned for most hated by police
(That's all I ask of you)
Fuck around and get thrown off the project roof
Just through trial and comin' down on appeal
