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 landspread
  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 Farrakhan
  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.."}