Real Shit

Yeah
It's the paragraph ambassador
The wild style fashioner
It's the god Rakim, the master
Feel this

(1st verse)
This is that lost ass track off-the-rack kind of a track
You forced to rap, remember that? It's that
You know where I'm at, there go the gat
Pass me a bat, the kill-or-be-killed kind of attack
Steamin' ___, speedin' navigatin' the map
Negotiating with a chick, she got her head on your lap, ya hand on your gat
Premeditated plan of attack, with two of your most deadliest mens in the back
Comb the block, stop in the zone that's hot
Get out like you own the spot, home or not
It's that no mood to play, move out the my way
Yo, I been whistlin' this tune from throughout the day
Hey, yo, this is that ol' y'all niggas don't wanna battle
Turn it up loud make the whole block rattle
Boom boom- this one is gettin' blazin' hot
Boom boom- make you bust another shot from the Glock

(Chorus)
From the streets below to everything above
To the heart that pumps Ra-kim Allah's blood
I swear I kick a hole in your speaker and pull the plug
You emcee's is playing tug-a-war with your tongues
From the streets beneath my feet to the sun
I'm number one and competition is still none
And I'm gonna keep kicking holes in your speakers and pullin' plugs
You emcee's is playing tug-a-war with your tongues

(2nd verse)
Here we come now
Turntable spin like a merry-go-round
Never slow down, depending on how good your stereo sounds
Set it, up in the hood where we go surround
Tearin' through towns, turn 'em into burial grounds
This is the track that made Theodore wanna scratch
The track that caused the firs