Tekster: Kool Keith. Bow To The Masta.

That's right y'all, the K double-O L, K-E-I-T-H (South Bronx)
I'm in here, I'm a let you know (I started rappin')

I can tell you can't rap, look at your engineer:
A Japanese guy with glasses on with straight leg jeans and a beer
Got you on Hit Factory with four groupies with acne
Thinking you recording a masterpiece, chewing peanuts in your session
I'm a learn you a lesson: all y'all can't write
You just a new group with an ordinary gimmick and radio and poster hype
Now that 3,000 people lost their jobs, I'ma see how your record do
But you're stuttering out your boo boo, can't give a decent interview
I was always wondering about you
Your whole group evolving different images around me
Acting like they don't copy me when they see me
You've spent your whole life listening to "Critical Beatdown"
You's a secret fan; every time I create an A.K.A. character
Most of you groups out there are so wack, looking at my shoes in my videos
The back of my album cover, and stealing my marketing plan
Like you inventing something new to the company
and in reality you're clones of me
(Y'all can't wait for my album to come out to steal something new)

You should bow to the master!
(Worship me, worship me, worship me, worship me) (Repeat 4x)

I pity the untalented, half of y'all creativity is to steal duplicate
The clothes I wear, call your promotional staff to get you out
Quick in the magazines to perpetrate me on your Ampex reels
On tour most MC's draw sketches of me and watch what I'm wearing
I found out why rappers look at me jealous and keep staring
Comparing me to themselves from a distance when I walk offstage
Your record label, your group, and your fanbase giving me a standing ovation
In the Chicago Bull warmup suit and a bald head like Michael Jordan
Six-time championship of the league, four million groups in the industry
Rakim and Canibus is the only ones rapping pro speed
I average 52 rappers per game, I put you to shame
Now you gonna sit in your used Expedition and act like you don't know my name
I don't have to battle anybody nor freestyle
Half of your flows are written by rookies working Montreal Expos
I don't care if you act wild, bring your raps to the studio
I'ma get in your booty, yo
I'ma set up a bag of dust on the console
So you can do this, light up, and smoke, yo, cause I'm no joke yo
I might ride on the cycle level 3, vomit when you go in the booth
Your product manager is going to say, "Yo who is he?"
(Yo who is that, man?)

You should bow to the master!
(Worship me, worship me, worship me, worship me) (Repeat 2x)

I don't play with skinny legs and the water head
Time after time you don't know what I'm thinking when I come
Into your studio professional with a white man driving a Continental Lincoln
Groupies look at me, y'all don't pay me no mind
I'm about to tear a new ass in this kid, he'd better not let me rhyme
Yeah, take a break, order some blunts
I'm about to get up all in your fronts
With your body shaped like Mitch Green and Tony Tubbs, you don't want this
Go in the corner with your stomach hanging, gold teeth looking sneaky
I'm a let you know how be, G
No matter how much your styles change you can't see me
Believe that, light up your ass souped up
Stand behind your backup, with your acne-faced girlfriend
You're gonna get a lot of feedback
Test the best, you're gonna have water on your kneecap

You should bow to the master!
(Worship me, worship me, worship me, worship me) (Repeat 2x)

Yeah, I'm sorry Blaze Magazine, I'm first
The other 49 rappers are behind me, what?!