Текст: Buddha Monk. Zu-Chronicles Vol. 1: Throwbacks. How Real Is Real?.

[Intro: Drunken Dragon]
Sometimes I don't understand these cats
Fuck is you talking too, I'm telling you duke
Better get the fuck out my face with that bullshit
Niggas ain't havin' it over here, son, for real, kid
It's like this...

[Drunken Dragon:]
Thug life, drug life and fast money
Bubblin', got young bloods searching for trouble
And the myst of murder one, bustin' guns at scuffles
Po-po, bout to fuck up your hustle, slithering
Fair weather friends and broads go AWOL
Houdini's in a total recall, afraid of predators
Prey, say they prayers in nightmares
Still get they panties rocked, by black cock ammunition
Spittin' like semen from foul demons on a mission
The six-six-six is still ticking
You wishing for the mystical to redeem
The spiritual, evil shit you do
But whose looking out for you? Yo

[Chorus: Drunken Dragon]
How real is real, is it something you feel, or something you front
Something you will and something you want
Never want a mass of energies in your force field
Still, the Guard-U-Now'll get you killed

[Drunken Dragon:]
Nigga, don't front for my approval, shit ain't all good
I grew up a po' nigga, strugglin' in the hood
Get a mil, I barely could, til I started banging niggas
Me in Guess jeans, connect, for triple figures
Didn't dig it though, it wasn't me or my steeze
Still tight, so hold a mics, caught a quick cash flow
That crack shit, had 'em doing back flips and semi's
Losing they sense, I learned alot from the dummies
Searching for the other wise, and duties of the civilized
Then I mutated, and formed three eyes
Realized, my true culture, now vote ya life taking
Giving more than I received, then I believed
That, damn I stand for justice, must this be I'm moving fast
They say I'm too damn old & outta control from smoking too much grass
Bbut I got trouble in the myst, and all I got is Dragon fists
Aiming at your brain, at point blank range, and oh this shit don't miss
Yo, ain't nobody swinging like this, I bring the myst
Leave ya blind to the shit, that my muthafucking clip spit
Herbs yet, from the devastation, that be destination
Trooping with that Nation, keep the foul bassing
Ya blood rising like diamond crystal, when the nines in between
Ya eyes, bout to take out ya third sight
Seen it all when I was younger, many nigga still under
Impression, and second guessing without doing the knowledge
Metaphorical, hypothetical, story tellers
Still don't understand how I stay a hot fella
Ya barking like Old Yeller, still ain't got the bite of this
Vicious rhymealicious, ambitious in the game
Flame stay lit, to spark the brain, start the session
I make born the seven, and find my own heaven

[Chorus]