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lirik lagu reality check – critical

(intro: critical)

yeaahh! (uhhh) im back on my sh-t n-gga, these n-ggas
need a reality check (uhhh) swag boy, king boy, wat up matt
ocean sate n-gga, these n-ggas need a reality check (uhhh)

(verse 1: critical)

lyrical shots and blood cash, i keep a corrupt stash, and those
who fall victim to the game crash, progress fast, ask, nice guys
finish last, destroy all barriers and then they collaspe, what the
h-ll is compet-tion rappers been fake, i take a sh-t on em’, wipe
my -ss with they mixtape, you don’t even get cake frontin’ like you
stackin’ paper, im outtie hater, jealous you know my style is greater
lyrics leave a mile crater for an obsivator critics they can suck my
d-ck and leave here with a sour flavor, the number shaver money maker
stack doe for acres, im on my chris brown sh-t my whole team is takers
you mother f-ckas fakers, you can’t change his, it only takes a hot beat
and hook to make it famous, hip hop is dead but see me i ain’t selling
out, i wanna be the one you look up to and tell about

(chorus: critical)
its my time and i came to sweat, n-gga place your bets, my pride i
protect, won’t take nothing less, i do it for respect, but these b-tch
n-ggas need a reality check (yeaahh!) x2

(verse 2: critical)

re-ality check on deck now whos next? to step up to the plate and get wet
(uhhh) im on the loose now, thats the truth i see it hurts, how these n-ggas
gettin’ deals but can’t write a decent verse? these n-ggas need a herse
presidents i bring home, every track is crack so relax this ain’t no ringtone
nah n-gga you trippin’, you insain ain’t you? you n-ggas must of got me twisted like
a sprained ankle, pockets on kankle, fat like oprah, sick, have a n-gga coughin
like a heavy smoker, n-gga your run is over runnin’ sh-t like im hova, in the booth
im making hits, the rap sammy sosa (yeaahh) i never stop the heat comin’, the beefs
nothin’, come through smooth he duckin’, (uhhh) lookin’ at me like you need somethin’
i’ll speed bump em’, slow him down now he sufferin’

(chorus)

(verse 3: critical)

i step in the booth and n-ggas ain’t sayin’ sh-t, catch me on my grind or at the crib
2k’n it, rap is my life like i already said man, without hip hop see, i would be a
dead man, but i ain’t dead man hungry for the bread and, keep it real at all cost never
talk to feds man, other n-ggas sell out for a platinum plaque, im not your average rap
full speed to where the cabbage at, once i see that oppritunity im grabbing that, a animal
but don’t come steppin’ in my habitat, real talk that’s where you get your -ss ripped at
flippin’ like a acrobat, n-gga where your casket at? (uhhh) mr c’s back with a vengeance
king sh-t, roll out the red carpet for my entrance, (yeahh) better protect your self from
infection, and i got more bars then cell phone reception

- critical

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