[Intro]
N***as
N***as
N***as
N***as
N***as

[Verse 1]
Brothers wanna know what's goin' on about the 411
On the group, and so on and so forth
So what you talk for, you know what I came for
A motherfuckin' ground war
Talkin' that same old style
Same old song, same old thang
Sweatin' yourself, you're gettin' busy, yo
Huh, but you still can't hang
I'd rather rip, and still the flip trip
On the mic grip and hit, and then trip
Into, but never, ever miss, yo
You still ain't shit
Thinkin' you're all that, you've got
The rep and props, but you still can't rap
Wanna talk about a wannabe, never gonna be
Ever gonna be, who's gonna see?
Come near here, come here child, yeah
I got flavor, style, compare
Hold the beat, stop the beat, drop the beat
Yo, you can't compete
You wanna steal my voice, steal our sound
Steal my beats, you wanna fuck around
I don't play son, shorts do I take none
You need help, better call 911
Or the Beatles, or Susanna
Drink you up like a cup of Tropicana
Juice, I got more, flowin' like a river
Yeah, style's what I give ya
Shakin' 'em, keep fakin' 'em, make-make-makin' 'em
Takin' 'em, bakin' 'em, no mistakin' the
Dope, hyper, raw, def MC
Wanna talk about a man, yo, who is he
Or she? You got nerve to even talk that
What about that? Yeah, what's up with that?
Rumor talkin', we can't make a hit
We've been makin' hits while you've been suckin' dicks
Around the town, lookin' for a hardcore deal
Yeah, you ain't real
[Chorus]
N***as (Yeah, you ain't real)
N***as (Yeah, you ain't real)
N***as (You ain't real)
N***as (Yeah, you ain't real)
N***as (Who are you? You ain't real)
N***as (Yeah, you ain't real)
N***as (Man)
N***as (Get out my face)

[Verse 2: Kool Keith]
Yeah, motherfuckers wanna blast
I keep rhymes in store for they ass
They ain't got the style to kick no shit
I bust rhymes and heat and just blow shit
Out, let me ask one question
You think I fell off? Well, come test then
You ain't the man to stop the Big X
Fuck around, be calm and wait next
Yes, shit is gettin' wild
Very wild, slick and much wild
But watch when I come with the Rhythm X shit
Then after that, motherfuckers wanna quit
Whether or not, you like it or not, you're wack, it's true
Your whole crew sound doo-doo
I keep tissue to wipe the first face
I'm like a team that stays in first place
Winnin', like the motherfuckin' Giants
You got rhymes to kick? Then drop science
Math, English, fuck it, I said it
Yo Ced, come and grab the mic
[Verse 3: Ced Gee]
Yo, let's begin with a phrase that's quite hype
I'll control with soul, Gee get right
Into the mix like a DJ spinnin' on
The crowd is buggin', rememberin' "Bring it On"
The phrase that stand to all that wanna try
To step to the Gee, get roast and I wonder why
Hmm, like Arsenio Hall says, I think
You rhyme like butter, you're soft and you're quite stink
Tryin' to perpetrate, sayin' you're hard, right?
You hit money grip you're fake like a bad night-
Mare with Freddy (Freddy), you know you're not ready (Ready)
You sound immature, like a amateur petty (Petty)
Yeah (You ain't ready)
To step on the stage, get hit with the rhyme jab
Just like the Flintstones, I'll break like Bamm-Bamm
Bam-bam-bam-bam-bam, I'll smoke ya
You slept on the Gee, better yet, true Ultra
But now we're back and MCs we're slappin'
We're givin' no slack and, 'cause you're wack and
Yeah, you ain't real

[Chorus]
N***as (Yeah, you ain't real)
N***as (Yeah, you ain't real)
N***as (Yeah, you ain't real)
N***as (Who are you? You ain't real)
N***as (Yeah, you ain't real)
N***as (Man, get out my face)