| I been busting rhymes since '84
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| And motherfuckers got the nerve to ask me to do a free show
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| Ain’t that a Bitch with a capital B
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| If I rap it’ll be for pay here on out, never free
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| This ain’t the day for being fraud
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| Every fool that got a tape out in the rap game be swearing up and down they hard
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| The most pimpiness, the most mackiness
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| Pushing most ki’s, hardest nigga, most jackiness
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| I used to have a lot of partners in the game
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| Till a struggle came and just like a women, it make a man change
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| You need to quit being fake and illegitimate
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| Don’t be asking me how many tapes I sold if you ain’t buy my shit
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| Stepping to K-Rino, lips in a straight pucker
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| Little sweet potato pie ass motherfuckers
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| The game you running boy gon' get you straight killed or hurt
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| Tryna cap when you know we both broke as dirt
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| 'Cause you ain’t real, motherfucker, you ain’t real
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| Popping all that weak shit, thinking you got skill (you ain’t real)
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| You ain’t real, motherfucker, you ain’t real
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| Claiming you the man when you out there in the field
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| I ain’t no gangster but sometimes I fuck around with 'em
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| But every homeboy that I roll with, they know that I’ll get down with 'em
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| I spit my trash going deep from the past flowing
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| I’m tired of girls walking around with they ass showing
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| The cash growing, getting dollars shoved up your crack
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| Half them fools get a dance and snatch their paper back
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| Next day she waiting for the bus, on the cut, check it
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| 17 years old, dancing out there butt naked
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| Disrespected, unprotected, think you’re built to last?
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| Same crusty little panties on your filthy ass
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| Talking about you want a good man, you lying there
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| At the motherfucking flea market buying hair
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| Getting ready to hit the club at 12 o’clock mid
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| Calling around tryna find somebody to keep your kids
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| Got a another on the way, still smoking blunts
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| Pregnant than a motherfucker, in the club at seven months
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| 'Cause you ain’t real, little mama, you ain’t real
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| Hopping your ass in every car that pass, you better chill
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| You ain’t real, you ain’t real, little mama, you ain’t real
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| Fake eyes, fake hair, fake nails, fake grill
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| I used to tell my little homeboy, «Don't run with them fools
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| Ain’t nothing but murder in them streets, why don’t you go and go to school»
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| Broke down all the drama that they gave K-Rino
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| How they showed my album cover on that cop killing show
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| How ourself and the government keep holding us back
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| How them punkass perpetrating hoes invented that crack
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| How a black man’ll sell is soul once he get rich
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| How we fuck over a women and then call her a bitch
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| North Side against the South Side, leave it alone
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| Killing each other over land that we don’t even own
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| Understand that’s the plan, I’m tired of saying that shit
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| I’m smoking this, I’m smoking that, why the radio playing that shit?
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| I try to do right but tonight I might as well blast
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| Let the preacher give the sermon while he sing for your ass
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| And when I click on these haters, all the laughing gonna stop
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| Pop pop, pop pop pop, till the whole world drop
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| 'Cause you ain’t real
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| You ain’t real, motherfucker, you ain’t real
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| Tryna buy some Jordan’s with a 20 dollar bill (you ain’t real)
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| You ain’t real, motherfucker, you ain’t real
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| Claiming you my homeboy, but trick, I know the deal (you ain’t real) |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song You Ain't Real , by - K Rino. Song from the album Ten Year Run 1993-2003, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп