Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song If It Aint Real, artist - Soulja Slim. Album song Cutthroat Committee, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 19.03.2012
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
If It Aint Real |
| Gone off that mo’fucking midnight |
| Ya understand what I’m saying, midnight |
| You feel me, (dro that is) |
| If it ain’t real, it ain’t me |
| If I ain’t toting that steel, I might get killed on my streets |
| If you from the N.O., you know what I’m talking bout |
| Send me to jail, I post bail I’ma make it out |
| Nigga what you looking at, I know you ain’t booting up |
| All of us got knives, most of us tooled up |
| Blues what huh, nigga blues who |
| I’m gone off some dro, in the red white and blue |
| Ooh and it’s my duty, to serve you quickly |
| When I come, my drum gone be holding fifty |
| I’ma leave some’ing numb, from fucking with me |
| I been overdue, for these cowards to get me |
| I’m the nigga nigga, uh they love to hate |
| But they scared to run down me, I keep some’ing in my waist |
| You’s a bitch ass nigga, stay out my face |
| I can’t lace that up for you, no other kinda way |
| When you fucking with me, you fucking with the real |
| Deal, fake niggas get fucked in the field |
| I stay up in the field, I never got fucked so I’m real |
| You’s a bitch boy, you hide behind the shield |
| I’m in my motherfucking territory, foul now |
| But I bet a bitch gone bow down |
| Stay out of my way, cause I’m holding my K |
| And bitch, I’m bout to wild out |
| I hold it down, for that down south |
| I’m standing blasting my canon, my attitude is empty every Bullet I got me any |
| adversary, hailmary ya’ll scary |
| Bone buried, my fucking eyes blurry |
| I mean heavily twisted, I been on lean |
| I’ma perculate and I’ma lean, nigga feeling the breeze |
| I do thangs like a gangsta, hell is hot in the mangers |
| Smelling my Glock top as I pop shots, feel these hot potat’as |
| This for now not later, I got’s to escalate you man |
| I’ll take the shit out of your crib, like I’m your decorator |
| Punch ya', put your kid in the refrigerator |
| I bought a Glock for all you nigga hater, popped a lot of shots at a |
| demonstrator |
| I’m bout to penitrate ya, I been a gangsta |
| But my clip right in my hand, fucking my trigger finger |
| It’s getting crucial now, three murders every day |
| Shit will never stop, in the N-O-L-A |
| New Orleans Louisiana, can I ride with my heat |
| I’ma ride with my heat, four time felony |
| Everybody telling me, stay out the penetentiary |
| But I’d rather go back, than get my head on a flat |
| Them Magnolia niggas, them Melpomene niggas |
| Them Calliope niggas, ain’t nothing to play with |
| If they got beef, then they letting the K spit |
| Trying to make a nigga disappear, like matrix |
| I wear my Reebok’s, with the loose shoe laces |
| And stomp in em like a big dog, in different places |
| Never went out of state, and caught no cases |
| Don’t think that I won’t, homeboy I’ll waste ya |
| Somebody call the ambulance |
| That boy blood flood the street like a avalanche, dead on arrival |