Lyrics Be Real - Lil Scrappy

Be Real

If you a thug my nigga be a thug
If you sell drugs my nigga then sell drugs
If you gonna rap about it be trill about it
And dont say shit if you can’t BE REAL about it
Comin up as a child all I seen was Hell
Momma stepped, Daddy sold yay, stayed in and out of jail
I came robbin and kickin in doors
Then went from a half to sellin ten O’s
But ya see shorty, My mom was a G
She made it real easy for my sista and me
She did what she had to do
And go on the damn grind like a nigga would do
Talkin about pimpin, o she did that too
I got robbed because a old nigga took all my loot
And I was just 12 years old goin on 13, which made me bold
That’s why I thank my heart is so cold
I gives a fuck about none of you hoes
All you fake thugs think about is grillin wit gold
Replacin yo does (shawty), and cakin these hoes
(shorty) and cakin these hoes
I’mma pimp, I spend my time makin these hoes
Nobody loves me so I guess I stay to myself
A nigga thankin 'bout change contemplatin my death
Feel my pain as it rains all over a nigga
And the only way I can get away is weed and liquor
Fuckin niggas up on the daily if they didn’t pay me
Niggas pullin guns on me damn near drove me crazy
Young nigga went to school just to sell some dope
A lil crazy ass nigga wit a knife in his coat
And in the streets broke heathens went through drama especially
Momma swung on a nigga, I stabbed a bitch in the head
I don’t scratch my head unless it itches
And I don’t smoke unless I’m bustin at you hatin bitches
Niggas, we was bred to die, don’t be askin me why
I’ll rather hustle in the cold cause niggas prayin wit fire
All the childhood issues when the Devil’s out to get ya
Got my mind on my gun and I shall pull pistol
(Bohagen) You see the streets, they’ll swallow you whole
Your mind, body, and soul
And leave you in a ditch, cold, wit no shoes and clothes
Be waitin for the trash collector
Follow me now selector to the ghetto sector
They’ll kill you over thirty dollars
I seen a man cut wit a dirty bottle blood squirted on his shirt and collar
I heard him holla a sound that I can’t forget
Ran home, watched cartoons and ain’t said shit
And to this day, Momma thought I was up at the park
While she was at the church praising the lord
I made it through amazingly unscarred
She had to be praying, because I made it by the graces of God
A product of hard times, I spit hard rhymes
Bible in one, the other hard iron
Dreaming of naming streets and boulevards mine
Grab yo piece of the pie, the other parts mine