Fuck movin’ mountains, I move planets and leave you Earthless.
Terror Squad: the worst that hurt shit, split your universes.

Fat Joe, “Find Out,” Don Cartagena, 1998

New York, New York, big city of dreams,
Where there’s nothing but foreign cars, bitches, and triple beams.

Fat Joe, “All Luv,” from D.I.T.C.’s All Luv 12", 1998

And to the shorties on the block, tryin’ to twist 40 tops,
Get your act together, do some carpentry with a Black & Decker,
And stop speedin like a Kawasaki…

Prospect, “The Hidden Hand,” from Fat Joe’s Don Cartagena, 1998

I’m sick and tired of these fake-ass niggas,
Saying that they’re catching bodies when they never pulled a trigger.
I know your style, I’ve seen it before,
You wearing army suit, now you think you’re hardcore.
Drinking on your 40’s, smoking on your blunts,
Can’t afford a chain so you wear gold fronts…
You fakin’ the funk, kid.
And you’d be getting it up the ass if you ever did a fucking bid.

Fat Joe, “The Shit Is Real (Remix),” Jealous One’s Envy, 1993