Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song This Iz Real , by - Shyheim. Song from the album This Iz Real, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 27.05.1996
Record label: Noo Trybe
Song language: English
This Iz Real |
| Yeah yeah, hah |
| It don’t stop |
| Sid, Vince, Tyler |
| Ta’He, Rubbabandz |
| Killa Kane, Redman |
| Let’s go to war, baby! |
| I keep it real, y’all know the deal |
| Every man for himself, similar to a battlefield |
| Never wack, its a straight up fact |
| Or dip down in black once you hear the clat-clat |
| It’s be real, ain’t no time to cash no butterflies |
| Pass the St. Ide’s, screwface is my disguise |
| Don’t look me in my eyes that ain’t wise |
| The first chump that jumps is the first chump that lies |
| Raw, spell that backward that’s war |
| Lay low scarecrow I’m knockin at your front door |
| Pointin a pistol to your peekhole, sucker |
| Warning: my trigga finga gets pushy |
| Blaow, a single straight to the headpiece |
| Decrease the peace and watch the drama increase |
| See I’m ruthless, pistol whip a clown toothless |
| Me gettin hit, ludicris |
| I’m on my P’s and my Q’s |
| Try to put your foot in my shoes kid |
| You gotta pay the diggy-dues |
| I ain’t the one to play Pammy |
| I leave the head all red like that little orphan Annie |
| I’m dressed in black like Streets of Harlem |
| Pat punk’s pockets down with no problem |
| And get away just like an Unsolved Mystery |
| You don’t believe me G, check my pedigree |
| And you can feel how I deal with the damn steel |
| This ain’t no game, it’s real |
| Now what? |
| Punk, run and get you guns |
| And premeditate on murderin me, the Godfather’s Son |
| And I’m from Shaolin, home of the Gotti’s |
| ? |
| thugs catch the body’s, catch where I be |
| In the heart of the projects doin foul things |
| Livin like kings, known for pullin stings |
| Grimy as ever, roll my mom’s when I’m broke |
| Keep my? |
| up to par, never had a tec-tote |
| My record label and the FCC don’t like what I’m sayin |
| So on the radio, you might not hear this joint playin |
| I got styles like a, prayin mantis |
| Watch me do damage, pin that to the canvas |
| My dirty broken language is a secret |
| Shaolin swordstyle, and never do we teach it, so peep it |
| Wu-Tang Killa Bee on the swarm |
| Word bond, I wet your block up like a rain storm |
| You think not, you see red dots on your forehead, you’re Elvis |
| Messin with these kids from Shaolin, you’ll get dealt with |
| Like Tip and Poetic, watch me set it with the quickness |
| Shyheim the good Son comes soon on 12-inches |
| The one man gang, never need an army |
| Killuminati got me at my window with a shotti |
| Like Malcolm, ready to touch anything that moves |
| Everyday lifestyle be a hustle like Smoothe |
| Brown Hornet, uh, Down Low Recka |
| June Lova, Big L |
| Gill-Gill, love you kid |
| Tump, Big Un |
| P’s, Big Grease |
| Big Red, hold it down baby |
| Uh, hah |
| Big Bogey, represent baby |
| Uh, Little Kane |
| You my baby boy, represent kid |