Boy (feat. P-Lo)

If I ain't a real boy, what you call it? (call it, call it) Yo (P-Lo, time to bring the bass back) Yo, yo... Ayy, yeah, wake, wake shit up, ayy On my mama, I can't make shit up, ayy If I ain't a real boy, what you call it? I don't think you want no problems Wake, wake shit up, ayy On my mama, I can't make shit up, ayy If I ain't a real boy, what you call it? I don't think you want no problems You see it... you see it, you see it (woo) VS's in my grill, you peeped it, you peeped it (woo) I'm a boy for real, I keep it, I keep it On me stay heated, I'll knock the meat out yo' pita Crack them gates up in Rita, or should I say jail? JPay, CorrLinks, and Music by Mail I started with nothin', ended up with a lot All my life I been hustlin' and clutchin' choppas and Glocks Man, I get it to pop, whenever I'm on the block Never know who will score when you feed 'em the rock Six in the mornin', dreads at my spot Ball on the floor, team ready to drop Run with scotch, I roll one up Enough in my blunt to levitate like monks Big boss status ain't made for runts Exotics online that'll wake shit up Ayy, yeah, wake, wake shit up, ayy On my mama, I can't make shit up, ayy If I ain't a real boy, what you call it? I don't think you want no problems Wake, wake shit up, ayy On my mama, I can't make shit up, ayy If I ain't a real boy, what you call it? I don't think you want no problems I'm authentic Got a Bela and a heater when I'm off in it When I meet her I'ma need about a soft minute We could chop it over lunch, maybe talk spinach Got a product we can rock and we walk with it Get a bag, run it up then we run it back Get a pack to the yak, watch how they act It's a wrap when it's wrapped and it's all intact If I ain't a real boy, what you call that? Havin' at it, gettin' to it I'm on this juice, same color as transmission fluid Two units on my collarbone But the, screen cracked on my iPhone And uh, these niggas dealin' with their hormones They actin' like bitches, they need some tampons I'm havin' my riches, I'm sittin' on a few tickets And I'll lay a nigga out like a nap-kon, BIATCH! Ayy, yeah, wake, wake shit up, ayy On my mama, I can't make shit up, ayy If I ain't a real boy, what you call it? I don't think you want no problems Wake, wake shit up, ayy On my mama, I can't make shit up, ayy If I ain't a real boy, what you call it? I don't think you want no problems Everything Gucci in another week Just put the stash in a seven-three Me and little bruh, we don't even speak Block me on the 'gram, I ain't even peep All I ever had was a bunch of love Pop anybody tryin' to fuck with cuz It is what it is, was what it was Truth really is, we don't give a fuck Rose gold Rucci rims on my Chevy, the paint wet (wet) Bought a studio with my SoundExchange check (SoundExchange check) I'm a movie ho, you can find me on the set (set) Slappin' dominoes, shootin' dice, talkin' shit (biatch) Excruciating throb in the trunk of the mob Mama used to tell me to get me a job I used to tell my mama "Don't you worry, sahob" One day my pockets gon' be as fat as the blob Ayy, yeah, wake, wake shit up, ayy On my mama, I can't make shit up, ayy If I ain't a real boy, what you call it? I don't think you want no problems Wake, wake shit up, ayy On my mama, I can't make shit up, ayy If I ain't a real boy, what you call it? I don't think you want no problems