King Tee - Can This Be Real Lyrics
YoWhats upKing tees in the mutha*****in houseGot my homeboy young floyd in the houseJ-ros in the houseBut yo[ verse 1 ]Now heres somethin everybody can relate toI know you hate to, but I feel great toBe the man to shake you, awake you and make youStop sleepin, and I do what it takes toBring a screechin halt to the snoozinFirst listen to the jam before you start choosinAnd refusin, sayin you cant hack itYou never even bothered to take it out the jacketPut it on the turntable, have a listenThen if its wack, start dissinNow I understand why youre dissin my cutSo I spit in my foot and stick my fist up your buttCause you have no business, really in thisAnd I have no time for that diss-dissI shoot a rhyme at you like Im shootin to killAnd you can do is ask yourself (can this be real? )[ verse 2 ]Now this song, I dedicate it to the sleepersNothing real hard, just a little teaserFor those who told those that the king tee was done withNo, not quite, yo pooh - pump itSuckers dont front, I know its me you admireI take your girl, set her soul on fireI use the mic like a gun and my rhymes like ammoI go tyson while others go ramboPooh-puts are warned, break north while you can, bubGive up rappin, join my fanclubIm the rap reverend, hip-hop evangelistYo, I can handle this, pass me the canabisPro rap artist, and my rhymes are kinda raunchyStart with somethin smooth, end with somethin punchySee, I can rock, funk, rock, reggae or salsaHeavy metal or some soul, disco at the casaJust to the point of a vinyl conventionTee does the rappin, e does the mixinSo if youre still sleepin, yo, thats illBut when youre awake - whats your question?(tell me, can this be real? )Let me see if I can bust this one offRight hereOne take[ verse 3 ]As I resume with my rhymes, or should I say continueYou got the nerve to try to pretend youDont like what Im doin or sayin so farBut usually when Im done youre satisfied, of courseI dont front or fake, dont base or sniffDont rob or steal or shoot dice and pimpCause I love to hang out with my posse and chillYou might think Im a thug, so think what you willI got a girl with a curl, and a homie named sonnyNever smoked crack, cause the shit smelled funnyKing tee, my alter ego, theres not to be a sequelSuckers try to diss me when I entertain the peopleHey, Im a murderer, your girl, Im servin herYou feel like beefin - hah, the nerve of yaI hit you so hard, it make your mother feel dizzyBack up, punk, the king came to get busy(tell me, can this be real? )
