Testi musica canzoni

Yeah
This is goin' out ... to all the live motherfuckers knowhatumsayin'
All the real niggaz Bronx Brooklyn Manhattan Queens California
La Perla Puerto Rico whatever the fuck you're from
youknowhatumsayin'
Yeah
Verse One:
This story takes place back in the South Bronx
Where at the age of fourteen I was ready to knockin' off punks (yeah!)
And suckers were scared to death
Every time I walked by I hit them niggaz take their last breath
(ahhh..)
See, I just didn't give a fuck
And if you had a seed skin, I let the bomba you was getting stuck
(word!)
That was the way it was
One day I went to visit my aunt, and stuck up my cous
See, something was fucked up back then
No matter what the fuck I did, I never had no ends
And my moms was on walfare
Aiyyo I knew I had a father, but the nigga was never there
So what the fuck was I had to do
When sick and tired to bein' the bummiest nigga out the crew
I gotta get mine, I gotta get cash!
I see an old man, I'm gonna rob him with the quick-fast
Gimme your motherfucking loot, popi
I'm goin' to get paid and can't a damn thing stop me
See, I'm tired of this porshit
And who the cops? Well they can suck my motherfuckin' dick!
Cause all them niggaz ever do is harass
That's why I came glad when I heard somebody swooped that ass
(*gunshot*)
Just to let ya know how I feel, word'em up
The fuckin' shit is real
Chorus: (*background cuts "Down on the real"*)
Aiyyo its real
Aiyyo the shit is real
The fuckin shit is real
Aiyyo its real
Verse Two:
Now I'm sixteen and there's a brand new scene
I'm makin' mad dupe, gettin' paid off the dope fiends (word)
*?Deep in shit?* the checkin order,
and my main man Tone was fuckin everybody else's daughter
See everybody knew in town that Joe and Tone had shit locked down
And a nigga wouldn't test me
It seems like every other day the fucking cops arrest me (yea!)
But the shit would never stick
I make one phone call and he'll be out by quick
Cause uncle Tan had my back
And now niggaz gettin' jealous cause they know I'm livin' fat
Talkin shit around the way and over block
But never in my face cause they knew I'd clap the glock
And my crew is mad deep
I'm punchin crazy puerto rican, so why yo don't sleep (word!)
And all you bitch ass niggaz know the deal, check it out
The fucking shit is real
Chorus
Verse Three:
Let me let ya know why I made this song (why!?)
Brothers can't deal with the real, word is bond
I'm sick and tired of these fake ass niggaz
Sayin' that they're catchin' bodies when they never pulled a trigga
I know ya style, I've seen it before
You wearin' army suit, now you think you're hardcore
Drinkin on your 40's, smokin on your blunts
Then afford a chainsaw, yo there ho fronts ,yeah
You fakin' the funk, kid
And you'd be *?kidnapped?* the ass if you ever did a fucking bid
It's time to separate the real from the phony
The name is Fat Joe, punk, act like you know me
I come from crypt with that ruff shit
Nowadays I can't believe the *?bull/boo?* rappers come up with
And all y'all bitch ass niggaz know the deal, check it out
The fuckin shit is real
Chorus
Outro:
Word up!
I wanna say peace to my peeps, the Beatnuts
Messengers Of Funk, strictly Roots
My man Four Flex, Zulu Nation
Jazzy J in the house
Diamond D, the whole Diggin' In The Crates crew
And rest in peace to my man Tony Montana
Aiyo, I'm out, word is bond
The shit is real
(*Premier cuts "Fat Joe's in town