Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Real Sh**t, artist - Rakim.
Date of issue: 31.12.1998
Song language: English
Real Sh**t |
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 |
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 first kid to spin on his back |
And then we saw, kids spray-painting the wall |
While some of y’all was waitin’for war breakin’the law |
It’s no antidote it’s what you can’t provoke |
So just relax with your girls or your mans and smoke |
And take a real hit, soon as it bang you feel quick |
It’s real thick, this is that ol’real shit |
This is the description of designs for you to listen to Reminiscin’the times and nothin’in particular |
Keep you goin’just like a whole pot of coffee |
Have you and your shorty doin'80 in a 40 |
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 |
(3rd verse) |
You know what this is Yeah kid, give up your riches |
Vicious, visions is not for motion pictures |
Unstoppable, rollin’witcha sickest clique of niggas |
Or witcha missus, gettin tropical kisses |
Makin’faces, anticipatin’places her tongue hits |
Suck her neck or just peck, better to funk it The EP is in effect from dusk to sunset |
She want a rim shot all over her drum set |
Jump the bed rubbin’your head- it’s rough sex |
50 ways to keep a love wet |
Down and up the steps with crazy positions left till she upset |
Damn, baby, you ain’t come yet? |
Hell, no- doomstick big as a elbow |
Gel soft, well blow, give him a minute, he’ll grow |
And all you gotta do is play the track again |
I’m ready and revived, baby, back again |
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 |
Yo! |
Check it, Yo! |
I’m faster than leopards running across the vast desert |
in twenty-two yards per second to catch me to daily delicatessen |
It takes me thirty minutes to eat’em, forty minutes to digest’em, |
and fifty minutes for it to pass through my intestines |
So ask yourself a question?(What question?) |
Can the Canibus rhyme? |
Is a fuckin porcupine half swine? |
No time to make up your mind, you wanna run or die? |
Clip you while you’re running by, trip you up from behind |
My rhymes, confuse niggas |
Like somebody try to gang-bang |
Wearin’a blue shirt and red pants, throwin’up signs with there left hand |
Standin’out on the corner of wetlands with a confederate flag for a headband |
God dam eggplants, niggas getting’me vexed man |
Cause I’m surrounded by garbage like Fred Sav |
And I can’t seem to get away from it I dreamed that I stabbed leviathan through the stomach, and ate from it In my past life I slayed hundreds, and in the life before that |
I played trumpets, to warn you that I was comin' |
There’s one billion ways to die, and I already tried |
nine-hundred million nine hundred and ninety nine |
When I aim and fire my rhymes, like a hundred cannon balls flying |
Striking you one at a time, in a parallel line |
While the art of emceeing is steady dieing |
Canibus and Rakim Allah is still in there prime! |
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 |