Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Be Real, artist - Lil Scrappy. Date of issue: 23.02.2004
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
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 |