Real People

*Talking*

[Verse 1: Masta Killa]

Oh you want more gun play

You wanna see me muder something broad day

Here, lay down when you hear the sound, gun to the back of his head now

Down front both knee, one two or three

Squeeze trigger, crowd scream witnessing murdering, how dare you

Never disrespect my family, I'll rep mine til the last breath that's physically

Mine of a last, my sons they still blast they blast, they [?] than me

Livin' out the legacy of me, that's how it gotta be

Still killa heads in the first realm, man down, [?]

Bushwick, Bed-Stuy, Brownsville, ENY

Crown Heights, Flatbush, Red Hook, people shook

Suspect my Brooklyn always good looking

From the ground we get like when jews get [?]

[Chorus: Masta Killa]

From Brooklyn to LA and back to Queens

Real people do real things, it's the thing

And if you never [?] family of principle

You won't get handled and dealt with

Simple

[Verse 2: Prodigy]

They want that murder sixteen, I got that

Me, rap killa pristine [?] homicide bangers for all of them gangsta

Real shit , bodied this, and target the next one

I got my crosshair on every kick snare

Every hi-hat, baseline should be scared

This is war literature, make me literally

Destroy niggas on and off beat, enough game

Now let me get seriously, on my shit on my gorilla grizzly

With these crowbars, flow hard like heavy blood loss

Spit [?] yo Prodigy, nasty God

MK, MVP will pass you off to the repo

For making them bullshit songs (fuck outta here)

Old pussy ass nigga, you soft

And shorty want it hard and she want it all night long

[Verse 3: KXNG CROOKED]

I got all in my game in the backseat of a Chevy

Cause in Long Beach you just gotta pack heat and be ready

In the backstreet with the Desi, heavy as Shaq's feet

Niggas run like athletes at a track meet

All ya hats leaking spaghetti

Obtain in my [?] activist rapper, nobel is ready, I'm Doc Strange

Pull up at the million man march in a box range

Cause I won't change but I got change, my block [?]

I'm still sipping dark Bacardi, I'm still darker than Marcus Garvey

I still start to party like yardy

Bust shots for cops, wanna give me 25 with a kickstand

But I'd rather park the Harley

Walk in, Levi's creased up

Pair of mean chucks, blinged up like King Tut

Knowledge of self, I college my self

Without a father to help, West Coast shit

And poppers and wealth

Killa

[Chorus: Masta Killa]

From Brooklyn to LA and back to Queens

Real people do real things, it's the thing

And if you never [?] family of principle

You won't get handled and dealt with