real shit
Yeah, I'm fuckin' with this shit right here, this straight
Y'all already know what it is, this lil Kodak, man fuck you fuck you kodak the mf shit i ate angel pussy in this bitch
This that real shit, for whatever shit you goin' through
I check your resume, before I do a song wit you
You don't feel this? Then nigga, I don't what's wrong wit you
You ain't her daddy, so don't think that bitch belong to you
She's a ill bitch, fuckin' me and all my homies too
She be on me, so why you think that all she want is you?
I was in that Yoda, sellin' Yoda on the move
Deliverin', I'm takin' orders, I ain't sellin' food
Book bag full of paper, but I never go to school
I use to tote that ball, now I just keep totin' tools
Yee ain't got no street cred, you ain't even got no bread
You be pillow talkin', boy, she told me everything you said
I be anywhere, go everywhere, just pull up on yo set
Pull up Panamare, flyers everywhere, oh, they dead
And I'm fresh to death, flyers everywhere, I kill em' dead
I won't fight you bout no bitch, but I gon' fight for my respect
I just post a picture, now she wanna get all in my chest
And the waiter beep keep knockin', I can't stop bopin' my head
Damn, I hate when you be stoppin', girl just keep droppin' that neck
I'mma hit you with this pistol, if you do that shit again
I love this shit, for real, and it ain't all about the bread
But I see I'm worth it, so now I be all about a check
They buy my shit on iTunes, but it free ride on the web
Cuz I drop that shit, you want to, you just pop it in, and play it
I don't wear that Invicta no more, I rock Audemars Piguet
Not a killer, but don't push me, cuz I'm too close to the edge
This that real shit, for whatever shit you goin' through
I check your resume, before I do a song wit you
You don't feel this? Then nigga, I don't what's wrong wit you
You ain't her daddy, so don't think that bitch belong to you
She's a ill bitch, fuckin' me and all my homies too
She be on me, so why you think that all she want is you?
You don't feel this? Then nigga, I don't what's wrong wit you
You ain't her daddy, so don't think that bitch belong to you
Road runner, bill, I'm on the turn pipe, just flowin' through
Pourin' out the seal, I'm poured a whole pint, pourin' a deuce
Only real relate, but you won't relate, even if you fake
I was hungry, cuz my daddy never stepped up to the plate
I'm a snapper, I'm a trapper, I'm a chapter, I'm a rapper
Nuttin' personal, but if you want a verse, then I'mma tax you
I just asked around town about ya, they said you a actor
We can't do no song, fuck the money, that don't even matter
This that real shit, for whatever shit you goin' through
I check your resume, before I do a song wit you
You don't feel this? Then nigga, I don't what's wrong wit you
You ain't her daddy, so don't think that bitch belong to you
She's a ill bitch, fuckin' me and all my homies too
She be on me, so why you think that all she want is you?
You don't feel this? Then nigga, I don't what's wrong wit you
You ain't her daddy, so don't think that bitch belong to you