Music please
Yes, welcome to Jealous One's Envy
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Artist Fat Joe
My name is KRS-One
And of course we're gonna bring the noise
'Cause we can never be toys
Yes I am the ultimate
Uttering ultimatums for the fun of it
It appears to me you don't know who you fuckin' with
You can't see this with bifocals 'cause you're local
Can't hang with my vocals
Better you fuck with Sonny Bono
Or Yoko Ono
But KRS, oh no no
You might think you Alexi but I don't give a fuck though
I'm rollin' hard like God with a squad black
Packin' them pockets bitch, where that money wad at?
Ayo I be the show stopper
As I shine like gold, other rappers dull like copper
The certified fake nigga dropper
Which borough is the thorough?
I know, do you know?
Let me know, I'm sayin' no
The coke connector
Sportin' leathers with reflectors
Don't get caught up in my sector or I'mma have to inject ya
With a slab of this lyrical dope shit
Fake MC's and wannabe's best to quote this
Fat Joe, the true and living will prevail
Kingpin like Sonny up in Bronx Tale
Will I fail? I doubt it
I'm a nigga catchin' bodies
While other niggas trying to sound about it
True indeed
Behind my back MC's claim they can serve me
In my face they screamin' we're not worthy
You's a has been, actually you ain't been
I'll be tourin' while you be home taping
So what punk? You can battle in a second
Frankly the bottom line is where's your hit record?
You claim I'm jockin'
Claim I'm on your dick, where's your witness?
If I'm on your dick my name has got to be syphilis
If you're feeling lucky duck then press your luck
Up up up and away 'cause I don't play clown
If you're feeling lucky duck then press your luck
Buck buck buck take that what you on the way down
As we proceed to lock it down
Don't get it fucked up, we be the kings of the Boogie Down
All we do is spark izm and get cash
Torturing MC's like that warden up in Alcatraz
It's Fat Joe, yo you know my steelo
Get so much love I'm payin' sixteen on the kilos
And the niggas outta town
Still got control of the Boogie Down
Now how the fuck you sound (yeah)
Ain't no army that can harm me and bomb me
Come on G you clowns ain't got a fuckin' thing on me
I'm flashy like white linen
Got rappers under pressure like two
Outs tied score in the ninth inning
I'm down with Kris and ain't no stoppin' me
I'm out for Bronx and Monopoly with chicks on top of me
It's my philosophy, puffin' L's in the corridor
Slappin' cops like Capone, hittin' whores in my laboratory
These motherfuckers don't want it
Word to mother Joe, these niggas don't want it
If you're feeling lucky duck then press your luck
Up up up and away 'cause I don't play clown
If you're feeling lucky duck then press your luck
Buck buck buck take that what you on the way down
Mercy, you wanna serve me but you ain't worthy
My style is too curvy, what you telling me?
But your flimsy ass will go home after the battle
And fondle your balls with KRS-One up in your memory
I know your kind, you rap like you're Mr. John Gotti the Don
But you're just another batty man
Tell the pro batty man
How you collect rap magazines dating back to Tougher Than Leather
And the reason you got such an extensive rap collection
'Cause most of your rap mags are all stuck together
Watch what you say, watch what you said
When your skull gets cracked, what you gonna say crackhead?
Your style is dead, kneel to the rap God and beg
Before I slap you way back in the days like Ahmad
Don't get me fed up or vexed up 'cause you'll get set up
My crew don't let up, I be dead up in this piece
Recognize this blast master KRS-One
For ten years Fat Joe chillin' on the East
We, the willing led by the anoying are
Doing the impossible for the ungrateful
We have done so much for so long with so little
That we are now qualified to do anything we, we, we...
Say what?
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