Real People

Is that, uhh... your profession or... your pleasure? Both, I guess... to be paid to do what you love, ain't that the dream? I guess so Huh, oh you want more gunplay? You wanna see me murder something broad day? He'll lay down when he hear the sound Click click, gun to the back of his head now Down upon both knee One two or three Squeeze trigger, crowd scream Witness in murdering How dare you ever disrespect my family? I rep mine to the last breath that's physically Mine everlast my sons'll still blast They born to be living out the legacy of me That's how it gotta be Still killing heads in the first round Man down, God cipher divine, true and living sound Bushwick, Bed-Stuy, Brownsville, E.N.Y Crown Heights, Flatbush, Red Hook keep 'em shook Respect my Brooklyn, always good looking From the grounds where your life and jewels'll get tooken From Brooklyn to L.A. and back to Queens Real people do real things is the thing And if you never violate family or principle You won't get handled and dealt with, simple They want that murder 16, I got that Mean rap, Killa pristine A dean of these homicide bangers for all of them gangsta Real shit, body this and target the next one I got my crosshair on every kick, snare Every hi-hat, bassline should be scared This is war literature, make me literally Destroy niggas on and off the beat Enough games, now let me get seriously On my shit, on my gorilla grizzly, with these Crowbars, flow hard like heavy blood loss Spit lungies, yo Prodigy nasty God M.K., M.V.P. will pass you off To the reaper for makin them bullshit songs Old pussy ass nigga, you soft, and shorty want it hard And she want it all night long (Bitch!) I got all of my game in the back seat of a Chevy 'Cause in Long Beach you just gotta pack heat and be ready In the back street with the Desi heavy as Shaq feet Niggas run like athletes at a track meet Or your hats leakin, spaghetti (Skrrrt) Ock chain in my 'Pac lane Activist rapper, noble as Reggie I'm Doc Strange Pull up at the Million Man March in a box Range 'Cause I want change but I got change, my block bangs I'm still sippin dark Bacardi I'm still darker than Marcus Garvey I still start the party like a yardie Bust shots, the cops wanna give me 25 with a kickstand But I'd rather park the Harley Walk in, Levi's creased up Pair of mean Chucks blinged up like King Tut Knowledge of self, I college myself, without a father to help West Coast shit, Impalas and wealth, Killa From Brooklyn to L.A. and back to Queens Real people do real things is the thing And if you never violate family or principle You won't get handled and dealt with, simple