Surf over to Fat Joe’s site and you’ll get an earful of “The Crack House.”

In a Village Voice story “Fat Joe vs. the Volcano”, Joey Crack admits he’s a lot more like Martin Scorsese than Pablo Escobar.

”.. though, on record, he frequently yells out Coca! or Crack! when the mood strikes him, in real life he’s no gangster. Happily married, with homes in Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey, and Miami Beach, he doesn’t pretend that his tales of assassinating government informants or stacking bricks on triple beams come from his own life. After all, the only powder he carries is Crystal Light (i.e., the startlingly bright-red beverage), and his nickname, Joey Crack, comes not from the rock, but from an old graffiti nickname based on the unfortunate visibility afforded by his low-slung pants.

“Most of my music is entertainment, stuff I’ve never done in my life,” he says. “I put it on records, and it just sounds crazy. I love making provocative, disrespectful music. And that’s what the people want to hear.”

He doesn’t ‘inhale’ or get drunk either.. especially with Diddy.

”.. only smoked pot once in his life: ‘I ran out the house butt-naked. It was crazy, and I never wanted to do it again.’ That doesn’t mean he doesn’t party in his own way—say, at Diddy’s Miami pad on New Year’s Eve. “Diddy was in the middle of the whole shit, throwing shit at me—like fruit—and chasing me with champagne,” Joe remembers. “He had ambassadors in his house, dignitaries. The prime minister of Turks and Caicos was looking at me like, ‘Who let these ghetto motherfuckers in here?’”

Confession or not, I’ve seen Fat Joe and his crew at Harlem’s Rucker Park, TS chains swinging, he’s yelling and screaming (at people in the crowd), unless your name is Curtis or Pap (?) no one’s looking for that fight.