Return of the Real showcased Ice T’s darker undertones and dark side. This is one of his more grimmer albums. However this album does not display as much social consciousness or political acumen as his 1993 album did when he was “woke” for his time. There are no songs worth skipping as each song is on point lyrically and production wise. However this album is more gangsta rap oriented than his last album. The album uses a grimey esoteric G-Funk soundscape filled with horrorcore elements which is much different from his other albums. His music is designed for the individuals out there who are ready to deal with the truth. Some of his realest songs on the album are I Must Stand, Where the Shit Goes Down, Return Of The Real, and The Tower. Ice T also showed his pimping roots on songs such as Pimp Anthem and Inside of a Gangsta. People slept on this album which led the album to become an under-appreciated classic. It’s the return of the real. This is gangsta rap at its finest.

Ice T made his return with the song Return Of The Real after a 3-year hiatus away from the music scene after finishing his acting career. During this time, he was an actor who starred in many prolific films such as Ricochet and New Jack City. The song uses a grimey esoteric G-Funk soundscape filled with horrorcore elements.

This is that high-powered shit. It’s the return of the real. Ice T raps about how real he is. It’s just some of that pimp, player, hustler shit. Ice-T been around for a while now. This nigga was gangbangin when gangbangin wasn’t even cool. What you know about that shit? It’s the return of the real. What’s up with all these niggas on these muthafuckin records talkin all this bullshit? You know these niggas out here been fakin for years. Ice T ain’t tryin to hear that shit.

Ice T returns with a little bit of reality rap on the song and outro Real. Ice T closed out the year 1996 with this song as he would not release another album until 3 years later in 1999. He raps about what being “Real” means.

Real is a word people don’t really want to deal with. Real is the difference from the way things should be and the way things are. Things should be beautiful and everybody should get along. But shit ain’t like that in reality. Things are fucked up. Opportunity isn’t available to everybody. Motherfuckers do go to jail. Men and women do not always get along. A woman doesn’t think twice about referring to a man as a dog. But then breaks down when she’s called a bitch. A lot of his homies are really incarcerated or locked up in federal penitentiaries or state institutions and will never come home. That’s really fucked up.

His music is designed for the individuals out there who are ready to deal with the truth. The truth is that anything that is alive will do whatever it has to do to remain alive. It’s called survival. And no matter how cold and fucked up it may seem. That’s real.

Where the Shit Goes Down is one of the realer tracks on the album where Ice T raps about the drama that unravels when shit goes down in the hood in South Central Los Angeles. Long Beach and Compton are some down-ass towns. But South Central L.A. is where the shit goes down. The song explains how it’s hard to keep up ballin when you’re on the run. This is gangsta rap at its finest.

It’s Saturday night in L.A.. His beeper is humming like a vibrator. This means Ice T has gotta make crime pay. He is packing two gats but wishes he could carry more. He is fully aware the feds are watching him using surveillance. But his vest clashes hard with the Versace he wears. So Ice is just rollin in the black five hundred Hyundai Expedition. At one point in his lifetime he had five cars and now only has one car. It’s hard to keep up ballin when you’re on the run.

Ice T has got two ki’s in his trunk and a shovel. He’s got the fat stash spot under the passenger floor. That’s for the other strap. The automatic type. The shovel’s for drama. (Need I say more?) He’s gotta keep it close in case shit gets hype. Ice T has got some other crimeys that are true gees. And he will kick this slang until the day he dies. Long Beach and Compton are some down-ass towns. But South Central L.A. is where the shit goes down.

Now niggas like their credit and like to get loans. So Ice T hooked up with his boy who turns them phones on. He told Ice T bout this nigga who won’t pay. He also said he knew exactly where the muthafucka stays at.

So Ice T went and got some homies he hangs with. These were some crazy muthafuckas who he used to bang with. They took a trip to his crib. Ice T snatched his wife and kids. Afterwards he cracked the safe with an axe. The wife remained unharmed. But Ice T promised next time that he would take her life. Ice T shot a nigga in his neck for disrespect and caught a body. He’s got blood in his trunk from a punk who squealed.

Now he’s a murder in Miami for a shoot-out at a party. Tonight he’s gotta meet this nigga from around the way. Some think he’s cool. Ice T think he’s an agent employed by the DEA. Ice bagged up ten ki’s of flour and met him in the hood. The nigga asked to see the dope. He reached for that briefcase too fast. Ice T realizes this person is an agent employed by the DEA.

Rap Games Hijacked exposed how corporatized and watered down rap and hip hop had gotten by the year 1996. Ice T informs us this rap game has been hijacked by fake muthafuckers. Ice T raps about how he got himself introduced to the rap game in his verses throughout the song. Just being black is hijacked. Ironically the song uses an old school hip hop soundscape with 909 beats.

The rap game’s hijacked. Let Ice T tell you how it happened.

There are too many hardcore muthafuckas out here in this business that aren’t gettin their proper credit, recognition, and financial compensation. You know what I’m sayin? Everybody has talking about the way hip hop/rap ain’t the same. Suckers kidnapped the rap game.

Ice got into this hip hop/rap game just to try to get a girl and get some light-weight fame. Local fame that did not reach outside beyond the boundaries of his region. There’d never been no cash made in it. So who thought you could get paid with it? Just crash the club with his crew and then jet.

There wasn’t many rappers out there rockin the streets. Then Run-D.M.C. jumped off and got mad paid when hip hop/rap was just cuts and beats. Ice started entering rap contests. Shootin hardcore rhymes through wack MC’s chests. Then he signed on the lines of a wack contract which he didn’t read and only made about $300 dollars in the first 2 years. Yo, this business sucks. But he got another chance and came correct when he got a lawyer and accountant. Now his shit’s legit. But many won’t get a second chance. Many get fucked in this biz without a kiss or a dance. The game is to exploit young ghetto kids. The shit’s gone too far.

Now while every MC in the game was worrying about a white boy getting the fame, they dug out the foundation. Here is a demonstration. Say for example you got a dope group from the hood talkin mad shit like they’re up to no good. You take them to a label. Now who sits behind the table? Some Jewish muthafucka that don’t know shit. Tryin to tell y’all what’s a fuckin street hit. The shit’s way off course. It’s like me telling Johnny Cash how to sing about his horse. You go on tour. The white agency says you’re wild and to tone down your style. The radio jocks are all pop. So how the fuck this nigga know what shit to rock? The shit that make your face turn green is when you get dissed by a magazine.

You can go gold or any record sales certification and still owe the record label money. Learn about the word ‘recoup’. And stop walking around all hyped and souped. You ain’t nothin but something to be used and worked. You ain’t nothin but a sucker to be duped and jerked. Cause the fuckin record label don’t love you. They didn’t love you on the street and don’t love you now. They’re out to make an end, friend. Because every dollar you make, they damn near make $10. They’ll take you for everything you got. Or else they’ll sign you and they put on the shelf to rot.

Ice T gave game in Verse 2 and Verse 3 to save his rap brothers. Just being black is hijacked. He exposed the evils of the music industry and how the music business is ran by Jewish people and white people. He just can’t stand around and watch hip hop/rap get done.

[Verse 2]
Now while every MC in the game
Was worryin about a white boy gettin the fame
They dug out the foundation
Now let me give a demonstration
Say you got a dope group from the hood
Talkin mad shit like they’re up to no good
You take em to a label
Now who sits behind the table?
Some Jewish muthafucka that don’t know shit
Tryin to tell y’all what’s a fuckin street hit
The shit’s way off course
It’s like me tellin Johnny Cash how to sing about his horse
You go on tour, the white agency says you’re wild
Tone down your style
The radio jocks are all pop
So how the fuck this nigga know what shit to rock?
The shit that make your face turn green
Is when you get dissed by a kidnap magazine
I give a fuck about these muthafuckas
I’m doin this jam to save my hip-hop brothers
Get your paperwork straight, kid
Get a lawyer and accountant just like I did
Don’t blow your dough, cause you will see g’s
But this game has no guarantees
Learn about publishing points, so you won’t be blind
Learn to read everything you sign
Then you might have a chance
If not, bend over, pull down your pants
The game’s hijacked

[Verse 3]
You can go gold and still owe the record label cash
Yo kid, check the math
Learn about the word ‘recoup’, troop
And stop walkin round all hyped and souped
You ain’t nothin but somethin to be used and worked
You ain’t nothin but a sucker to be duped and jerked
Cause the fuckin record label don’t love ya, pal
They didn’t love ya on the street and don’t love ya now
They’re out to make an end, friend
Cause every dollar you make, they damn near make 10
They’ll take you for everything you got
Or else they’ll sign you and they put on the shelf to rot
I’m tryin to tell you what’s up
You best to listen to this record even if you hate my fucking guts
Cause I just can’t stand around and watch rap get done
And my brothers ain’t gettin none
A nigga like me has gotta spit game
Nigga, get that cash flow. fuck that muthafuckin fame
Cause the white man’s rippin us off once again
Real hip-hop, my man
Fool, the rap game’s hijacked
You need to listen, nigga
The rap game’s hijacked
Need to play this record about ten times
The rap game’s hijacked
Black people don’t own shit
The rap game’s hijacked
Check it

R&B’s hijacked
Black acting is hijacked
Just being black is hijacked
(Build, my nigga, build, my nigga)
Nigga
Stupid muthafuckas, they rippin us off
You better get a end..
While the money’s there, boy
Silly-ass bitch runnin around with a gold chain
All niggas gotta get some real estate
Muthafucka
Come up
Fuck a bitch
Better get somethin you can own, asshole
White man ain’t givin up shit
Word o’ life
Although I got a white engineer
But he’s gettin minimum wage
So it’s cool…

These lyrics expose how record labels cheat uneducated and uninformed musicians and artists out of their royalties in general.

The game is to exploit young ghetto kids
A straight pimp game, and there ain’t no shame
And the shit’s gone too far
100 hip-hop labels with all white A&R’s
The game’s hijacked

Get your paperwork straight, kid
Get a lawyer and accountant just like I did
Don’t blow your dough, cause you will see g’s
But this game has no guarantees
Learn about publishing points, so you won’t be blind
Learn to read everything you sign
Then you might have a chance

Now while every MC in the game
Was worryin about a white boy gettin the fame
They dug out the foundation
Now let me give a demonstration
Say you got a dope group from the hood
Talkin mad shit like they’re up to no good
You take em to a label
Now who sits behind the table?
Some jewish muthafucka that don’t know shit
Tryin to tell y’all what’s a fuckin street hit
The shit’s way off course
It’s like me tellin Johnny Cash how to sing about his horse
You go on tour, the white agency says you’re wild
Tone down your style
The radio jocks are all pop
So how the fuck this nigga know what shit to rock?
The shit that make your face turn green
Is when you get dissed by a kidnap magazine

You can go gold and still owe the record label cash
Yo kid, check the math
Learn about the word ‘recoup’, troop
And stop walkin round all hyped and souped
You ain’t nothin but somethin to be used and worked
You ain’t nothin but a sucker to be duped and jerked
Cause the fuckin record label don’t love ya, pal
They didn’t love ya on the street and don’t love ya now
They’re out to make an end, friend
Cause every dollar you make, they damn near make 10
They’ll take you for everything you got
Or else they’ll sign you and they put on the shelf to rot
I’m tryin to tell you what’s up

But many won’t get no second chance
And get fucked in this biz without a kiss or a dance

I rate this album 5/5*****!