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