Kool Keith Bow to the Masta Lyrics:
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
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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?!
Lyrics: Bow to the Masta, Kool Keith [end]