Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Real Reality, artist - Necro. Album song Street Villains Vol. 2, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 17.01.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Psycho+Logical
Song language: English
The Real Reality |
Cut through your flesh with sharp knives |
Blast you to death, laugh in your face |
I’m as trife as it gets |
When I said it, leave you to pass, like archives |
Forget it, you better walk that stat |
When the Beretta sparks, click clack, get back |
More pieces of your grill |
Will be shot off, kid I keep it ill |
Death rap mastery |
In crib bumping, battery thumping |
With anyone that has it in for me |
Dump a clip o' dum-dums in a dummy |
Then dump him in the dumpster |
I talk so much crazy shit |
There’s a chance you just might not believe me |
Until I punch you in you’re fucking face kid |
Face it, I’mma have to demonstrate shit |
Some demented hate shit |
Then some young impressionable kid’ll watch me and emulate it |
The cycle of psychos never ends |
Malevolence continues through venues |
Ever since I got banned from knitting factory on wetlands |
Hustle Like a sicko |
‘Cause I got money coming to me |
There’s enough of it out there for Necro to snatch 50 Mill |
I won’t stop ‘til I have it |
‘Cause I’m ambitious |
And maliciously vicious |
Enough to kill |
Anyone in my way better move |
We came from nothing |
And now our foundation is strong |
I will rep my own shit |
Fuck what you do |
You can’t do what I do |
Gores of original so it’s on |
Jabbing you or stabbing you up |
Pick one, grabbing you up, quick son |
Snuffed up, bucked up |
You a fucking victim |
Necro be the representative of Brooklyn, New York |
That’s where I live |
Gats to your rib |
Robbing you blindly |
Find me back in the crib |
Chilling iller with a bitch |
That’s willing and able to strip |
On the table for a villain with a goal |
I’m making a million before 30 years old |
I keep shit real when I step |
If my reputation’s at stake |
No hesitation |
When I break faces |
Whipping out razors |
Flipping out |
Logical Psycho Necro |
Astronomical sicko |
The last of a dying breed |
I’m the master of sick bastards |
I’m indeed |
Pump this loud till your eardrums burst |
My verse comforts you like a tech during beef when ten cats step |
And they get merked |