| Soulja Slim
|
| Only for the real, niggas who I fuck with
|
| Know what I’m sayin'?
|
| REal niggas gon' feel this shit
|
| Cause its only who I fuck with
|
| Know what I’m sayin'?
|
| Show by hands
|
| Put 'em up in the air if you bout makin' dollars
|
| And you be bout this real shit
|
| That be to hard to swallow
|
| Come, follow?
|
| Me to the land
|
| The home of the soldiers
|
| If not committed they will cut throat ya
|
| Play brawl then go to
|
| Soldier streets but don’t sleeps
|
| And shots to knock ya off ya feet
|
| Specialise in assassinatin', all bustas who be soldier hatin'
|
| My bodygaurd is the Lord
|
| Mines in the back of my head
|
| My dogg, a born killa
|
| Treal nigga
|
| Been runnin' with me since I was small
|
| Alot of y’all probably know him, then again ya probably don’t
|
| Cause its sung to strugglin' that be ridin'
|
| With head biters in the trunk
|
| Elliotts name was double crosser
|
| He’ll double cross ya, when he woulda taught ya
|
| Told me not to get my hand dirty
|
| He’ll be my nigga tosser
|
| Tellin' me to do my rap thing
|
| No Limit bring me out there
|
| Just chill, and make my mills
|
| With my skills and keep it real
|
| That’s a, born killa
|
| 1- A treal nigga
|
| 2+3- Big time, dope dealer
|
| A real nigga, that get it how I live on it
|
| Fuck with born killas, dope dealers and real niggas
|
| Ill niggas, and treal niggas
|
| That get it how the live nigga
|
| Born killaz
|
| Dope dealers
|
| And treal niggas
|
| That get it how they live
|
| The real niggas, stay real
|
| And the fakes stay fake
|
| And you’s a busta type nigga
|
| Then stay the fuck outta my face
|
| Because I’m tryin' to stay busta free
|
| But y’all not hearin' me
|
| Its nuts or cuffs
|
| Get it how you live, on these city streets
|
| And every nigga roam
|
| Gotta be Bout It Bout It
|
| Niggas pourin' syrup in the game
|
| They not bein' solid
|
| And thats the busta type
|
| Niggas I can’t fuck with so I stay my distance
|
| And run with real soldiers that love me
|
| Only a handfull, duck and holler back
|
| Real niggas for sure got my back
|
| All about the combat
|
| All of the rest of 'em dead
|
| Bread, ridin' red
|
| A big dope dealer I used to fuck with doin' time in the vet
|
| No need to say his name, my nigga used to slang them thangs
|
| O-Z's and kilos
|
| Heard the smack mayne
|
| He used to give me grams
|
| Never wanted to give me weight
|
| He knew my habit, had me out there, he was goin' to get blazed
|
| I respect that by me bein' an addict
|
| I was, here I had to snort about half a gram to get me a buzz
|
| I got sent to the old jail, where alot of niggas don’t survive
|
| I rolled on the till bout a quarter of five
|
| Got up early in the mornin'
|
| Four feet up old mill
|
| Guess who till rep
|
| My dogg Cheer Will
|
| He gave me five scoops, cause I just rolled in
|
| But I gave that shit away
|
| Cause my head bone bent
|
| A murder charge in three attempts
|
| What the fuck you expectin'?
|
| I’m facin' life in prison, with a leathal injection
|
| But these dick suckin' DA’s
|
| They refuse the charge
|
| I rolled off B1, makin' boo-koo noise
|
| Screamin' those bitches can’t hold a Soulja like me down
|
| Then my pajamas, socks and T-shirts, with a tank from? |
| town
|
| I ain’t stay out, cause thirty days
|
| I come right back in this bitch
|
| Probation violation, gotta do a year in six
|
| I bet you dick suckers won’t see me
|
| No mothafuckin' more
|
| I got big plans, ya understand?
|
| By slangin' lyrics like dope
|
| To all my people locked down, y’all be home in a second
|
| Just keep it real, and stay treal and make them bitches respect ya
|
| Chorus-3 till end |