Lyrics Reality Check - Rapper Big Pooh

Reality Check

Aiyyo, I’m fat' than a muh’fucker
Got light skin, so black' than a muh’fucker
Step outa line, get clapped lil' muh’fucker
I ain’t got a gun but stay strapped lil' muh’fucker
And I ain’t raising no guns my nigga
Nah, I’m raising my sons
You fruit, you hot grapes, raisins in the sun
We not Broadway playing, you ain’t a gangster
Be a man and just stand up and just say it
Now see… now wasn’t that easy?
You ain’t come home from the yard nigga, you ain’t DP
You ain’t made no Cash Money nigga, you ain’t Weezy
Saw the beef that you cook, nigga you ain’t greasy
But as for me, I’m done with the thugging
Three kids to feed and plus the family got needs
Uh, this is big business here, you can front with us
And tighten the noose up and watch Black kick the chair
It’s a suicide, it’s a suicide
Wait, run and tell these niggas who am I
I go by the name of Black, and on or off track
Man I’m everything you are plus everything you lack
Uh, I’m younger, I’m smarter, I’m bigger, I’m better
I’m nitty, I’m gritty, I’m witty, I’m clever
You can’t fuck with me
I guess this industry is stuck with me
I’m a cut above the rest like a buck fifty
Rocks a solo or a guest spot
I’m on my game like I’m standing on an Xbox
Fuck a rest stop, cruising on this road to riches
Hate me, like step pops I expose the bitches
Rate me, with Big Pop' man I’m one of the best
Think not, you’re in need of a reality check, yes!
Uh, you know I’m that cold
Frost bitten flow, rap with the glow
Piss it in the snow just to let 'em know
I don’t act for show, I’m through talking
I CeCe Peniston niggas keep walking
I bite often, never quit barking
Up the wrong tree, from the top see I’m stalking
Pause when I walk in, eyes on me
I’m fresh from my braids to the recs on my feet
You lames can’t keep up when I speak
I sound so sheik/Sheek, no not The LOX
The key to the box, I keep it in my sock
I look to my flock and spread the word
They call me Shep cause the way I herd
Rapper’s absurd, Rapper got nerve
You carry-bun niggas better kick 'em to the curb
This is my word, my word is my bond
Stake in potatoes, y’all niggas just flawn
And I don’t know what type of shit you on
I’m a king on the board and your ass is just a pawn
Yeah, the master’s been alarmed every ten years
These old niggas ain’t handing, passing their baton
Ain’t nothing sacrament, MC
Critics wanna negate the acronym, maximum exposure
Word is niggas can’t rap in California
Regional rap, the normity casino went back
I’m the unsung hero with the ego to match
No Evisal, just the easel, my cerebral is that
Intact, strapped, black as Don Chino, relax
Blondes, bilinguals, all kinds of PR trap
The deuce-deuce is offset and twenty-threes in the back
Yeah the calibre’s rim, Grim Reaper is black
The Benz sleeker but the six-forty viva is fly
Y’all the meaningless, my Quentin Tarantino is vibe
It’s un-TiVo-able, y’all gon' have to come see it to show
Stroll a much more meaningful flow
The best of both worlds, niggas ain’t believing me though
Like I’m evenly cut, plus the game need police and not the pre-seen type
Y’all niggas came to shoot the breeze, I’m here to DC snipe
Y’all can’t see me, niggas call me League-League Myke'
Y’all niggas D-League nikes selling the seaweed raps
I’m in the CD kipes, easy, through these mp3s I splice
Khrysis on the MPC like «nice»
Never heard a catalogue more catastrophic
Or more brash in topic selection
Forever out the box, but ain’t ever out the loot
Will I ever get my props for my efforts in the booth?
Only Lord knows as far as the law goes
At award shoes I’m more chose with more flows to come