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Yo
What`s up
King Tee`s in the muthafuckin house
Got my homeboy Young Floyd in the house
J-Ro`s in the house
But yo

[ VERSE 1 ]
Now here`s somethin everybody can relate to
I know you hate to, but I feel great to
Be the man to shake you, awake you and make you
Stop sleepin, and I do what it takes to
Bring a screechin halt to the snoozin
First listen to the jam before you start choosin
And refusin, sayin you can`t hack it
You never even bothered to take it out the jacket
Put it on the turntable, have a listen
Then if it`s wack, start dissin
Now I understand why you`re dissin my cut
So I spit in my foot and stick my fist up your butt
Cause you have no business, really in this
And I have no time for that diss-diss
I shoot a rhyme at you like I`m shootin to kill
And you can do is ask yourself (can this be real?)

[ VERSE 2 ]
Now this song, I dedicate it to the sleepers
Nothing real hard, just a little teaser
For those who told those that the King Tee was done with
No, not quite, yo Pooh - pump it
Suckers don`t front, I know it`s me you admire
I take your girl, set her soul on fire
I use the mic like a gun and my rhymes like ammo
I go Tyson while others go Rambo
Pooh-puts are warned, break north while you can, bub
Give up rappin, join my fanclub
I`m the rap reverend, hip-hop evangelist
Yo, I can handle this, pass me the canabis
Pro rap artist, and my rhymes are kinda raunchy
Start with somethin smooth, end with somethin punchy
See, I can rock, funk, rock, reggae or salsa
Heavy metal or some soul, disco at the casa
Just to the point of a vinyl convention
Tee does the rappin, E does the mixin
So if you`re still sleepin, yo, that`s ill
But when you`re awake - what`s your question?
(Tell me, can this be real?)

Let me see if I can bust this one off
Right here
One take

[ VERSE 3 ]
As I resume with my rhymes, or should I say continue
You got the nerve to try to pretend you
Don`t like what I`m doin or sayin so far
But usually when I`m done you`re satisfied, of course
I don`t front or fake, don`t base or sniff
Don`t rob or steal or shoot dice and pimp
Cause I love to hang out with my posse and chill
You might think I`m a thug, so think what you will
I got a girl with a curl, and a homie named Sonny
Never smoked crack, cause the shit smelled funny
King Tee, my alter ego, there`s not to be a sequel
Suckers try to diss me when I entertain the people
Hey, I`m a murderer, your girl, I`m servin her
You feel like beefin - hah, the nerve of ya
I hit you so hard, it make your mother feel dizzy
Back up, punk, the King came to get busy
(Tell me, can this be real?)

Yo
What`s up
King Tee`s in the muthafuckin house
Got my homeboy Young Floyd in the house
J-Ro`s in the house
But yo

[ VERSE 1 ]
Now here`s somethin everybody can relate to
I know you hate to, but I feel great to
Be the man to shake you, awake you and make you
Stop sleepin, and I do what it takes to
Bring a screechin halt to the snoozin
First listen to the jam before you start choosin
And refusin, sayin you can`t hack it
You never even bothered to take it out the jacket
Put it on the turntable, have a listen
Then if it`s wack, start dissin
Now I understand why you`re dissin my cut
So I spit in my foot and stick my fist up your butt
Cause you have no business, really in this
And I have no time for that diss-diss
I shoot a rhyme at you like I`m shootin to kill
And you can do is ask yourself (can this be real?)

[ VERSE 2 ]
Now this song, I dedicate it to the sleepers
Nothing real hard, just a little teaser
For those who told those that the King Tee was done with
No, not quite, yo Pooh - pump it
Suckers don`t front, I know it`s me you admire
I take your girl, set her soul on fire
I use the mic like a gun and my rhymes like ammo
I go Tyson while others go Rambo
Pooh-puts are warned, break north while you can, bub
Give up rappin, join my fanclub
I`m the rap reverend, hip-hop evangelist
Yo, I can handle this, pass me the canabis
Pro rap artist, and my rhymes are kinda raunchy
Start with somethin smooth, end with somethin punchy
See, I can rock, funk, rock, reggae or salsa
Heavy metal or some soul, disco at the casa
Just to the point of a vinyl convention
Tee does the rappin, E does the mixin
So if you`re still sleepin, yo, that`s ill
But when you`re awake - what`s your question?
(Tell me, can this be real?)

Let me see if I can bust this one off
Right here
One take

[ VERSE 3 ]
As I resume with my rhymes, or should I say continue
You got the nerve to try to pretend you
Don`t like what I`m doin or sayin so far
But usually when I`m done you`re satisfied, of course
I don`t front or fake, don`t base or sniff
Don`t rob or steal or shoot dice and pimp
Cause I love to hang out with my posse and chill
You might think I`m a thug, so think what you will
I got a girl with a curl, and a homie named Sonny
Never smoked crack, cause the shit smelled funny
King Tee, my alter ego, there`s not to be a sequel
Suckers try to diss me when I entertain the people
Hey, I`m a murderer, your girl, I`m servin her
You feel like beefin - hah, the nerve of ya
I hit you so hard, it make your mother feel dizzy
Back up, punk, the King came to get busy
(Tell me, can this be real?)

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