Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song I'm Real, What Are You?, artist - Paul Wall. Date of issue: 02.04.2007
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
I'm Real, What Are You? |
| Hello World, Sup everybody, I’m speaking to all the ppl out there. |
| There comes a time to where, you have to know, who you are, |
| (Dipset, Skoal game) |
| And what you are, to overcome things |
| Oh and by the way, My name is KL… C |
| The drum ma__ ya heard me? |
| but this not about me, This is about the PPl’s Champ |
| From Houston Texas, My Partner, Paul Wall, |
| Tell em who you are! |
| I’m a real motha fucka what are you? |
| (what are you) |
| I’m a real motha fucka what are you? |
| (what are you) |
| I’m gettin money stayin' true, chasin paper what it do, |
| I’m a real motha fucka what are you? |
| (what are you) |
| I’m a real motha fucka what are you? |
| (what are you) |
| I’m a real motha fucka what are you? |
| (what are you) |
| I’m gettin money stayin' true, chasin paper what it do, |
| I’m a real motha fucka what are you? |
| (what are you) |
| I’m grindin like a rotor, and I’m postin like a sticky note |
| Stackin up that paper, pockets fatter than a dukie rope, |
| boyz lookin sick, But that docta got that antidote, |
| hatin cuz they broke suckas, fake as a 30 spoke. |
| I’m watchin the stock «es, I’m real as a pac __, |
| But these clowns be actin funny, like a knock knock joke, |
| They cramp on my style, cuz I got money and power, |
| My paper long as the nile, so how them hatas like me now? |
| Them bustas on the prow so I’m ten tokes down, |
| I’m puttin all yall to sleep so put on your night gown, |
| Some tatoos and a ice grill dont make you real, |
| These cats be actin frauder than a 4 dollar bill. |
| I’m a gun holdin, blunt smokin, paper chasin, ladie banger, |
| fly boy somethin like a aviator, ha yeah, |
| I’m you girls super hero, her caped crusader, |
| So go head and hate me cuz I hate a hater. |
| it take money to make money I said, |
| So you gotta have dough to make bread where I’m From, |
| I aint chew get it, I stay true with it, |
| Barbed wire flow, dont get tangled in it, |
| Real nigga yes, all about the hustle, |
| till I get that call from god sayin,"I want you" |
| I been trough it, I past struggle, thats right, |
| Every day I in the street trying to complete a mad puzzle |
| white coupe, pedal mashed down, |
| Seats soft like I sat on hash brownies, |
| I get money, dont ask me, ask 'round, |
| Big money like I work downtown. |
| I’m one hundred, but them other boys frontin, |
| They just sideline commentating, we call it dumb fuckin, |
| They sweet as apple pie, as they spreadin them lies, |
| They smile up in your face but so quick to jump F__ |
| You swear they so cool, but they turn like doorknobs, |
| They say they hardcore, but they friendlier than spongebob, |
| Im tryin to stay afloat, stayin up on my note, |
| So that Highness is what I tote, affordin the overcoat. |
| I roll with a platoon that’ll put you in your tomb, |
| and then mark up your body like Mr. Cartoon, |
| Its real in these streets when you chasin that guap, |
| Cuz that hatin around the clock, will it ever stop, |
| Probobly not. |