Music please, yes, welcome to 'Jealous One's Envy'   We'd like to thank you in advance for purchasing this product   It is a 'Relativity Records' product, 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 ultimatum's 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 a ROTC, but I don't give a fuck though   I'm rolling hard like God for the squad black   Packin' them poppers bitch, where that money be at?      Aiyyo 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' though      The coke connector, sweating leather with reflectors   Don't get caught up in my sector, or I'ma haveta 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 the nigga catchin' bodies, while other niggaz fantasize about it      True indeed, behind my back MC's claim they can serve me   In my face they screaming, "We're not worthy"   Youse a has been, actually you ain't been   I be touring, while you be home taping      So what punk, you could battle in a second   Frankly the bottom line, is where's your hit record   You claim I'm jocking, claim I'm on your dick, where's your witnesses?   If I'm on your dick my name has got to be syphillis      If you're feeling lucky duck, then press your luck   Up, up, up and away 'cuz I don't play clown   If you're feeling lucky duck, then press your luck   Buck, buck, buck take that witcha 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   Tortuing MC's like that warden up in Alcatraz   (Bo, bo, bo, bo)      It's Fat Joe, yo, you know my steelo   Get so much love, I'm payin' sixteen on a kilo   Sendin' niggaz outta town, still got control of the Boogie Down   Now how the fuck you sound?   (Yeah)      Ain't no army that could harm me or bomb me   C'mon G, you clowns ain't got a fucking thing on me   I'm flashy like white linen   (Tell 'em)   Your rap is under pressure like two outs tied score in the ninth inning      I'm down with Kris and ain't no stopping me   I'm out for Bronx and Monopoly with chicks on top of me   It's my philosophy, but for now it's in the corridor   Slappin' caps like a ball, hittin' hard to my labrador   These motherfuckers don't want it   (Word to mother Joe, these niggaz don't want it)      If you're feeling lucky duck, then press your luck   Up, up, up and away 'cuz I don't play clown   If you're feeling lucky duck, then press your luck   Buck, buck, buck, take that witcha on the way down      Merrrcy, you wanna serve me but you ain't worthy   My style is too curvy, what you tellin' me   But your flimsy ass will go home after the battle and find I'm your boss   With KRS-One up in your memory      I know your kind, you rap write   You're Mr. John Gotti, the Don, but you're just another bwotty mon   Telecro bwotty mon, how you collect   Rap magazine dating back to, Tougher than Leather      The only reason you got, such an extensive rap collection   'Cuz most of your rap mags are all stuck together   Watch what you sayin', watch what you say   When your skull gets cracked, whatcha gonna say crackhead?      Your file is dead, kneel to the rap God in bed   'Fore I slap you way back in the dayz like Ahmad   Don't get me fed up or vexed up 'cuz you'll get set up   My crew don't let up, I be dead up in this piece   (Tell 'em)   Recognize it's BlastMaster KRS-One   For ten years, Fat Joe, chillin' on the East