That's My N***a Fo' Real

I got weigh in haze, my customers' hoes sleep with me

We have small beef, I still sell 'em Os for three fifty

They know in big beef, I'll pop a hundred times

Be like roadkill, I leave ****' brains on 1 and 9

And my down bitches, they be ready to kill

I be like, "Chill", they be like

"That's my **** fo' real"

Yeah, I'm from the Bricks, yeah, we like

That's my **** fo' real

Yeah, Young Zee, all my **** from the hood, they be like

That's my **** fo' real

Yeah, B-Boy, you my ****, yeah, talk to 'em

Yo, I don't give a fuck if we don't sell a record

We still won't get this money in the Bricks

Spill it, Zee

I'm like Santa Claus, I deliver **** grams to raw

Straight from Panama, fiends eat it up like carnivore

And my dimes disappear like magic wands

I sell them till the crack of dawn and destroy every track I'm on

Plus, I have a clam packed in the back of vans

More raw than the Taliban, murk you for half a gram

I get B-Boy to drop your truck in the river

Fuck some dough, he be like

That's my **** fo' real

That's my **** fo' real

That's my **** fo' real

That's my **** fo' real

Scarecrow, what? I'm tryna walk before I crawl, I want it all

Ever since I came out of my mama's walls

I'm tryna make so much dough when I write a song I can bite 'em all

While your clique on the corner selling final calls

**** mad at us, gladiators like Maximus, we fabulous

While you fall off like Canibus' managers

My man, D, you keep the nino peeling

Zee, point 'em out and watch me serve them like Serena Williams

That's my **** fo' real

That's my **** fo' real

That's my **** fo' real

That's my **** fo' real

Zee need Buddha, E user, beef pre-Lugers

Spittin' from out PT Cruisers

My tape don't drop, I still got dough to make

Got lil' **** on roller skates holdin' my coke and weight

Blow paper, ho chase a dull razor, Joe Frazier

Sixteen cellies and four pagers

Go hype up your squad, that they might fuck with ours

I just light up cigars, go buy bikes, trucks, and cars

Got acts so nitty in Atlanta deep, ran the street

Ten grand a week, I give 'em one word to put your man to sleep

And I love my Jersey live bitches

They'll leave a **** face with thirty five stitches

They'll help me tie cinder blocks and push a kid

So deep in the ocean, go see where octopuses live

This label deal is for Raz, Pace, and Chill

I know mad heads but still, them my ****

That's my **** fo' real

That's my **** fo' real

That's my **** fo' real

That's my **** fo' real