Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Real Talk, artist - Lil Wayne. Date of issue: 19.08.2002
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Real Talk |
| I am what you call a survivor, like trouble with drama |
| But I recover with power, and love it with honor |
| Discovered as a son of a problem |
| Remember smugglin powder throught the doors of my high school |
| To force up they nostril, 'til it got full |
| But now they pop for a pill |
| Lil one here’s what’s up, Drugs could kill |
| But drugs could heal |
| If ya, ahh, ill for that good feel |
| And it feels good when them fields pull |
| We wheels quarters through the real raw parts of the streets |
| My hearts in the streets, So watch what ya step |
| When ya run from the gunfire of Glocks and Tech’s |
| Specials and Pumps, Vests is for chumps |
| Eat ya chests for lunch, munch |
| Young country dude, hunt ya down with tools |
| Repsect my presence, I step with weapons |
| You fall in seconds |
| Its all in the code of the streets, we go by it and stop from it Real nigga talk, No frontin |
| Heh |
| Do you understand the words that are comin out of my mouth? |
| If ya dont its because I’m speakin real nigga |
| Real nigga, This here is real nigga talk |
| Real nigga talk dogg, I hope you feel me Let me talk to you dogg, You gotta feel me I hope you feel me, You gotta feel me Listen |
| Chrome’s hidden inside of my tires |
| You should see the size of my tires |
| Ridin’on Mark McGwires, I spark the fire |
| Got me higher than a late flight |
| From L.A. to New York twice in the same night |
| Got some shit in my bag to make ya vein white, Cocaine pipe |
| Watch homie’s brains get rain whipped |
| Thats the type of sight to make Wayne right |
| They sayin life is short but money is long, And money is life |
| So for now I’m runnin the lights, in the 600 with pipes |
| Hop out, Collar Polo, and under the stripes is something that bites |
| We will be thuggin for life |
| And can’t nothin pursuede or change us We gangstas, we live it, I’m in the post without a Pippen |
| But fuck it, I’m just shootin when I can’t move |
| Who’da knew I can’t lose |
| And truthfully through the loot that’s Young Money Entertainment |
| You get it arranged then holla at me |
| (Chorus w/ minor variations) |
| I burn in the winter, stand up in the fall |
| Stand up in the stands, and stand up for my dogs |
| Them asses I will spall, the plan is too ball |
| But the stuff I got in my pants cuff |
| is enough to make’em put my hands on the wall |
| Work, push on the strip, I’m pushin the whip |
| Fat back pockets, my cushion if I’m lookin to slip |
| I’m hookin ya lip, If ya play hookie with my chips |
| Put that ass kitchen, bitch, when ya cookin that shit |
| Dodge hoes, jukin and shit |
| Cause I can see beautiful women, but I’m not lookin for shit |
| I’m from the hood where you tooken for shit |
| So you gotta take the shit, and make ya shit |
| I had to bring home the bacon bits |
| Cause Pop’s was fakin, and he left a nigga bakin shit |
| Now my heart ache and itch, from all the flagrant shit |
| I gotta take in, and thug out |
| Real nigga talk, bitch |
| (Chorus w/ minor variations) |