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

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?)

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 cannabis

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

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 hommie 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)