The Realist

Styles: 90s West Coast Hip Hop · Boom Bap · Gangsta Rap · West Coast Hip Hop

Production: Live bassline · Gritty drums · Melancholic piano chord progression · Soulful female background vocals · Cinematic orchestration · 85 BPM · Emotional · Raw

[Spoken Intro — Deep, authoritative, legendary vocal style]
(Heavy, clean drum break loops. A low, rolling G-Funk bassline drops in)
Yeah... 1-2, mic check.
You are now listening to the realist.
From the West Coast trenches to the Brooklyn blocks.
We bringing that raw, unfiltered realness.
Turn the levels up in the headphones... yeah, just like that.

[Verse 1 — 90s West Coast style, angry, aggressive, barking delivery]
Step the hell back when I step in the room (Westside til I die)
Bringing that street-level sonic-ass boom, (sonic boom motherfucker)
They wanna talk about peace in the city in cities that never sleep,
While cops on the beat, I'm in the alleys looking gritty.
The lyrical psycho, straight out the gutter
Spitting that venom that make the politicians stutter,
You want a fairytale, go watch a Cinderella
I'm dropping shit like pigeons,
I ain't no sell-out, I'm breaking the law
An AK-47 when I flow the raw street funk, (Street styles, real funk punk)

[Verse 2 — 90s style, smooth criminal, OG pimp cadence, 80s gangsta flow]
(Beat switches slightly, adding an old-school synth whine)
Yeah... check the game from an old-school mack (I'm The Mac Daddy)
Syringe on the pavement, chalk out body, overdosing on cocaine,
I don't talk about the blocks unless I lived in the crime,
Like gangsters chilling smoking cigars in Cuba, (And Getting High on the sand)
Rhymes paid the bills, I keep my eyes on the prize, while my hand is on the scale.
Player-haters wanna talk but they don't know the code
I'm an original baller raised out the danger zone,
Now back up, little homie, let the master speak,
Before you end up a statistic by the end of the week.

[Chorus — Group Chant, anthem style, heavy and loud]
This is the message they tried to erase,
Spitting what's real, right in front of their face,
From the East to the West, yeah,
Turn the music up loud,

[Verse 3 — Slow, heavy multi-syllable pocket, smooth mack style]
(Beat switches to a heavy, dusty Brooklyn boom-bap loop)
Uh... yeah... check it.
Kick in the door, rocking designer suits, (You hear me fool)
Flowing that expensive rap for the rich and the poor.
Sipping on champagne, counting up the green,
The smoothest heavy-hitter that you've ever damn seen,
Chronically iconic, I got multi-syllables, (Heavy Hitters)
I put the targets on the market just to make a quick profit.
Cozy in the crib while you stuck in the rain,
A lyrical Picasso painting pictures of pain,
Relax and take notes while I smoke on some weed,
I turn an amateur rapper (You fucking chumps,) into standard ground beef. Uh.

[Verse 4 — Passionate, soulful, revolutionary, high-energy style]
(Beat adds a dramatic, melancholy piano loop)
But they don't hear me though, they rather see a brother dead,
With a bullet in my back and a bullet in my head,
I'm talking bout the young Gee's in the dirt,
Trying to find a little healing through the struggle,
They judge a book by the cover, put my life in a cell (Thug Life,)
But a revolutionist never rots in a hell,
I keep my nine close, while I'm fighting the storm
Pouring liquor on the curb for the homies till the pavement gets warm.
Only God can judge (Only God) the path that I take,
I'm a soldier, sacrifice my life so you can make homemade movies,

[Verse 5 — Paranoid, breathless, venomous, ultra-aggressive style]
(Tempo feels faster, vocal delivery gets angry and urgent)
Watch out, the ghost of Makaveli (Makaveli) is in the house tonight,
I'm catching enemies tripping over their own lyrics,
They just studio emcee's, a bunch of cowardly pussies, (mother fucking pussies)
I'm an Outlaw chief, can you relate to the paranoia inside of my brain,
The paparazzi and the feds trying to drive me insane,
No exiting from the game, yeah, who's ready for war
Lines and bars till you hit the damn floor,
Thug Life till I die (westside)
Westside! Face your destiny tonight!

[Chorus — Group Chant, anthem style, heavy and loud]
This is the message they tried to erase,
Spitting what's real, right in front of their face,
From the East to the West, yeah,
Turn the music up loud,

[Spoken Outro — Fading out over the G-Funk synth]
(Beat strips down to just the bassline and the high-pitched synth)
Yeah. History made right here.
You can't duplicate the soul.
You can't replicate the streets.
East Coast, West Coast... it's all one empire.
Rest in peace to the fallen soldiers.
Keep it locked... we out.
(The track fades out with deep echo on "we out")