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?)