Can This Be Real

Yo What's up King Tee's in the muthafuckin house Got my homeboy Young Floyd in the house J-Ro's in the house But yo [ VERSE 1 ] Now here's somethin everybody can relate to I know you hate to, but I feel great to Be the man to shake you, awake you and make you Stop sleepin, and I do what it takes to Bring a screechin halt to the snoozin First listen to the jam before you start choosin And refusin, sayin you can't hack it You never even bothered to take it out the jacket Put it on the turntable, have a listen Then if it's wack, start dissin Now I understand why you're dissin my cut So I spit in my foot and stick my fist up your butt Cause you have no business, really in this And I have no time for that diss-diss I shoot a rhyme at you like I'm shootin to kill And you can do is ask yourself (can this be real?) [ VERSE 2 ] Now this song, I dedicate it to the sleepers Nothing real hard, just a little teaser For those who told those that the King Tee was done with No, not quite, yo Pooh - pump it Suckers don't front, I know it's me you admire I take your girl, set her soul on fire I use the mic like a gun and my rhymes like ammo I go Tyson while others go Rambo Pooh-puts are warned, break north while you can, bub Give up rappin, join my fanclub I'm the rap reverend, hip-hop evangelist Yo, I can handle this, pass me the canabis Pro rap artist, and my rhymes are kinda raunchy Start with somethin smooth, end with somethin punchy See, I can rock, funk, rock, reggae or salsa Heavy metal or some soul, disco at the casa Just to the point of a vinyl convention Tee does the rappin, E does the mixin So if you're still sleepin, yo, that's ill But when you're awake - what's your question? (Tell me, can this be real?) Let me see if I can bust this one off Right here One take [ VERSE 3 ] As I resume with my rhymes, or should I say continue You got the nerve to try to pretend you Don't like what I'm doin or sayin so far But usually when I'm done you're satisfied, of course I don't front or fake, don't base or sniff Don't rob or steal or shoot dice and pimp Cause I love to hang out with my posse and chill You might think I'm a thug, so think what you will I got a girl with a curl, and a homie named Sonny Never smoked crack, cause the shit smelled funny King Tee, my alter ego, there's not to be a sequel Suckers try to diss me when I entertain the people Hey, I'm a murderer, your girl, I'm servin her You feel like beefin - hah, the nerve of ya I hit you so hard, it make your mother feel dizzy Back up, punk, the King came to get busy (Tell me, can this be real?)