Текст песни Real People - Masta Killa , KXNG Crooked , Prodigy

Is that uh your profession or your pleasure?
Both I guess
To be paid to do what you love
Ain't that the dream?
Huh, huh, yeah, huh
I guess so

Huh, oh you want more gunplay
You wanna see me murder something broad day
He'll lay down when he hear the sound
Gun to the back of his head now
Down 'pon both knee
One, two, or three
Squeeze trigger, crowd scream, witness say murdering
How dare you ever disrespect my family
I rep mine to the last breath that's physically
Mine everlast, my sons'll still blast, they born to be
Living out the legacy of me, that's how it gotta be
Still killing heads in the first round, man down
God's life in the vine, true and living sound
Bushwick, Bed-Stuy, Brownsville, E.N.Y
Crown Heights, Flatbush, Red Hook, keep 'em shook
Respect my Brooklyn, always good looking
From the grounds where your life and jewels'll get tooken

Yo, from Brooklyn to L.A. and back to Queens
Real people do real things is the theme
And if you never violate family or principle
You won't get handled and dealt with, simple

They want that murder sixteen, I got that
Mean rap, Killa pristine
A dean of these homicide bangers for all of them gangster
Real shit, body this and target the next one
I got my crosshair on every kick, snare
Every hi-hat, bassline should be scared
This is war literature, make me literally
Destroy niggas on and off the beat, enough games
Now let me get seriously
On my shit, on my gorilla grizzly with these
Crowbars, flow hard like heavy blood loss
Spit lungies, yo Prodigy nasty God
M.K., M.V.P. will pass you off
To the reaper for making them bullshit songs
Old pussy ass nigga you soft
And shorty want it hard, and she want it all night long

I got all of 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 feet
Niggas run like athletes at a track meet
Or your hat's leaking spaghetti
Ockchain in my Pac lane
Activist rapper, noble as Reggie, I'm Doc Strange
Pull up at the Million Man March in a box Range
'Cause I want change but I got change, my block bangs
I'm still sipping dark Bacardi
I'm still darker than Marcus Garvey
I still start the party like a yardie
Bust shots, the cops wanna give me twenty-five 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 colleged myself without a father to help
West Coast shit, Impalas and wealth, Killa

Yo, from Brooklyn to L.A. and back to Queens
Real people do real things is the theme
And if you never violate family or principle
You won't get handled and dealt with, simple