Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Still Real, artist - Fat Joe. Date of issue: 26.11.2007
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Still Real |
| Yo yo |
| I’m sick and tired of stressin, every days a different lesson |
| I’m free-fallin tryna leave this deep depression |
| My son Joey still slow, my moms got cancer in her throat |
| My big brother sniffin dope |
| Lemme know how many motherfucker wanna be just like me |
| Screamed at and treated like shit by your wifey |
| This hot bitch be sweatin the coke cash |
| My baby mother think I grow dough out my ass |
| It’s like, how much fight I got left in me? |
| Niggas won’t be happy till they bring the fuckin death of me |
| But you never see Joe look weak or flow off beat |
| And Charlie sees the board in four more weeks |
| You gotta walk where I walked |
| Bang where I bang |
| Slang where I hang |
| To get where I’m going to |
| Stay where I stay |
| Blaze who I blazed |
| Pay dues how I payed |
| To get where I’m going to |
| Uh, yo, the South Bronx, nine years later |
| Ain’t nuttin changed, niggas still playa haters |
| T.S. |
| the best that’s done it, forever live and never front it |
| Reminisce of when I used to hold heat and tell niggas «run it» |
| Now we flooded with jewels, hundreds of dudes |
| Crowd the Coliseum to hear they favorite tunes |
| Then at the time of our prime we caught a sick one |
| The angels came down, took my twin Big Pun |
| Shit were unbalanced throughout the whole world |
| All I could do was try to provide for his seeds and his old girl |
| Hope your listenin, tell Ton' that we still missin him |
| I’m like a prisoner in jail with no visitors |
| Yeah, uh, aiyyo the third verse is dedicated to you |
| Even though you switched teams, I’m praying for you |
| We used to stay up all night countin dollar for dollar |
| You was my son’s godfather, where the fuck is your honor? |
| Can’t even rap the shit we did together |
| You’d probably have me shackled locked down doin bids forever |
| You broke the first code |
| I’d like to twist ya wifey till it roasts gold |
| Snitch nigga, turned state to sold ya soul |
| How could a nigga that was clappin in the streets |
| Start yappin to the deez, like what I rightly should believe? |
| Like ever verse is a charge, for every hurt there’s a scar |
| I never once tried to hurt cha’ll |
| I’m just tryna do me, sell a few CD’s |
| Buy land in Miami and cop a new B come on! |
| Motherfuckers think it’s sweet |
| Think a nigga got money and a nigga don’t feel pain |
| You ain’t never feel my pain |
| You don’t know what the fuck I’m goin through |
| Niggas lookin at me like, «He got it made» |
| Like I ain’t lose Pun, my grandfather a week later |
| My aunt a month later |
| Like my fuckin sister ain’t in a coma right now! |
| You motherfuckers don’t know pain! |
| Let’s get one thing clear; |
| money’ll never buy you happiness |
| My true niggas walk with me now! |