You Ain't Real Songtext / Lyric

Brothers wanna know, what's goin on about the 4-1-1

on the group, and so on and so forth

So what you talk for, you know what I came for:

a motherfuckin ground war!

Talkin that same old style

Same old song, same old thang

Sweatin yourself, you're gettin busy yo

Huh, but you still can't hang

I'd rather rip, and still the flip trip

On the mic grip and hit, and then trip

into I never ever miss. yo

You still ain't shit

Thinkin you're all that, you've got

the rep and props but you still can't rap

Wanna talk about a wannabe, never gonna be

ever gonna be, who's gonna see

Come near here, come here child yeah

I got flavor, style - compare

Yo, you can't compete

You wanna steal my voice, steal our sound

Steal my beats, you wanna fuck around

I don't play son, shorts do I take none

You need help better call 9-1-1

or the Beatles, or Susannah

Drink you up like a cup of Tropicana

juice, I got more, flowin like a river

Yeah, style's what I give ya

Shakin em, keep fakin em, make make makin em

Takin em, bakin em, no mistaken em

Dope, hyper, raw def MC

Wanna talk about a man, yo who is he

or she, you got nerve to even talk that

What about that, yeah, what's up with that

rumor talkin, we can't make a hit

We've been makin hits while you've been suckin dicks

around the town, lookin for a hardcore deal

Yeah - you ain't real!



"Niggaz" Yeah, you ain't real!

"Niggaz" Yeah - you ain't real!

"Niggaz" You ain't real!

"Niggaz" Yeah - you ain't real!

"Niggaz" Who are you? You ain't real!

"Niggaz" Yeah, you you ain't real!

"Niggaz" Man.

"Niggaz" . get out my FACE!!!



Yeah, motherfuckers wanna blast

I keep rhymes in store for they ass

They ain't got the style to kick no shit

I bust rhymes and heat and just blow shit

out, let me ask one question

You think I fell off? Well come test then

You ain't the man to stop the Big X

Fuck around become???? next

Yes -- shit is gettin wild

Very wild, slick and much wild

But watch when I come with the Rhythm X shit

Then after that, motherfuckers wanna quit

Whether or not, you like it or not, you're wack it's true

Your whole crew sound doo doo

I keep tissue to wipe the first face

I'm like a team that stays in first place

Winnin, like the motherfuckin Giants

You got rhymes to kick? Then drop science

math, english, fuck it I said it

Yo Ced, come and grab the mic



Yo let's begin with a phrase that's quite hype

I'll control with soul Gee get right

Into the mix like a DJ spinnin on

The crowd is buggin, rememberin "Bring it On"

The phrase that stand to all that wanna try

to step to the Gee get roast and I wonder why

Hmmm, like Arsenio Hall said, I think

you rhyme like butter you're soft and you're quite stink

Tryin to perpetrate, sayin you're hard right

You hit money grip you're fake like a bad night-mare

with Freddie, you know you're not ready

You sound immature, like a amateur petty

Yeah (you ain't ready)

to step on the stage, get hit with the rhyme jab

Just like the Flintstones, I'll break like Bam Bam

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! -- I'm smoke ya

You slept on the Gee, better yet, true Ultra

But now we're back and, MC's we're slappin

We're givin no slack and, because you're wack and

yeah. you ain't real!



"Niggaz" Yeah, you ain't real!

"Niggaz" Yeah - you ain't real!

"Niggaz" Yeah, you ain't real!

"Niggaz" Who are you? You ain't real!

"Niggaz" Yeah, you you ain't real!

"Niggaz" Man get out my FACE!!