2Pac-style, johnny “J” raw and lush and polished 90s arrangements

[Male Vocals][82-92 BPM][2Pac rhythmic flow switches]

[Intro]
[2Pac]
Fuckin’ phone won’t stop ringin’…
Nikkaz I don’t know… enemies I ain’t never seen…
Got me checkin’ my own reflection twice.
Shit’s fucked up.

[Verse 1: 2Pac]
Phone keep ringin’, motherfuckers I ain’t never seen
Tellin’ me I saved they life, what the fuck do that mean?
Enemies claimin’ I shot at ‘em, when I was deep in my sheets
Got me paranoid, clutchin’ my heat when I creep through these streets
This ain’t no fuckin’ twin, this some other shit
Some paid motherfucker wearin’ my face, on some sucker shit
Heard he was at the club, wearin’ my fuckin’ rings
Startin’ beef with nikkaz, makin’ a whole fuckin’ scene
Got me lookin’ over my shoulder, my own mind is my enemy
This nikka ain’t just tryin’ to frame me, he tryin’ to get rid of me. Fuck.

[Chorus](x2)
They say a nikka look just like me
Fuckin’ my bitches, spendin’ my money
This ain’t me… this ain’t me
Some other motherfucker wearin’ my jewelry.

[Verse 2: 2Pac]
My own homies lookin’ at me strange, like I’m the enemy
My right-hand nikka told me he seen me with the fuckin’ police
I was in the studio, nikka, what the fuck is you talkin’ ‘bout?
He said he saw me with his own two eyes, no goddamn doubt
This ghost is movin’ silent, takin’ over my life
Heard he was with my main bitch, just last fuckin’ night
Givin’ orders to my soldiers, nikkaz don’t even question it
My whole empire’s bein’ run by a counterfeit
This ain’t a setup for a case, this is somethin’ worse
They tryin’ to delete me from this earth, put me in a hearse.
It’s a cold game.

[chorus](x2)

[Verse 3: 2Pac]
Show up to the funeral, just to pay my respects to a fallen soldier
And see this motherfucker standin’ right over the casket… bolder
Than a motherfucker, wearin’ my chains, my fuckin’ Rolex
Spittin’ a eulogy in my voice, got my whole mind wrecked
My own crew, my own fuckin’ people… lookin’ at me
Like I’m the fake, the intruder, can’t they fuckin’ see?
This ain’t a nikka you can shoot, this a fuckin’ idea
The only way to kill him is to make the real me disappear
Gotta burn the whole fuckin’ image down to the ground
So when they see the real nikka, there ain’t no ghost around
Pulled the strap on my own fuckin’ face
The whole world watchin’ while I kill the nikka they praise.

[Spoken Outro]
…Now who’s the real one?
Motherfucker.

90s West Coast Hip Hop,Conscious hip hop,high-fidelity,cinematic street soul,MPC-sampled drums (drumset),synth,guitar,piano,minor,rich multi-layered analog arrangements,dynamic storytelling production