Lyrics Real Or Fake - Z-Ro

Real Or Fake

You can’t get your motherfucking weight up
So you keep your hate up, (straight up)
We gon' show you how it’s done man
King of the Ghetto and Corleone
Screwed up click for life nigga, real talk
Fuck you ol' punk ass, strong enough for a man made ass niggas
I’m a south side nigga, third ward to be exact
Catch me coming down the boulevard, banging Fat Pat
You looking at an American gangsta in the flesh
Broke bread with true G’s, and fronted a few ki’s
Moved out to Cali, graduated to P-T's
O.G.
granddaddy, I’m so fooling
Tell the truth, DJ Screw made me
Without him, ya’ll wouldn’t know Mike D
I was just lil' Mike, Bam had a hogg in training
Running cars in breeze ways, all day standing
While ya’ll had, ya’ll hoes on your mind
I was posted by the labor pool, rocking for rocking them nines
Before and after school, making it pop
Yeah a nigga dropped out, but graduated to blocks
Had a dream, by twenty-one I’d be a millionaire
Few bumps in the road, I’m almost there
Either you real, or you fake
Cause real niggas don’t fold, don’t bend or break
We just trying to get our cash on nigga
And if you disrespect, we’ll get our blast on nigga
I’m a quiet nigga, but I’ve got a competitive nature
Balling out of control, like number eight from the Lakers
I’m Kobe, ain’t no other King of the Ghetto I’m the one and only
I bet all your nieces and nephews, and cousins know me
I rise above the competition, cause they’re so below me
Kinda like what a Geneva watch, is to a Rolly
And I know King Johnny, the real King Johnny
Those diamonds are not shining homie, you’ve never seen Johnny
Screwed Up Click, soldiers united for cash
We legal now, so it ain’t no mo' circles in the stash
Or circles in the door panel, or circles in the dash
Well piss me off and I’ll merk you, now you part of the past
Cause I’m an asshole, by nature
And I don’t love my bitch, I love my paper
And you ain’t shit, if you ain’t never been screwed up
But you gon' take a nasty punch, if I lace my shoes up
Either you real, or you fake
'Cause real niggas don’t fold, don’t bend or break
We just trying to get our cash on nigga
And if you disrespect, we’ll get our blast on nigga
First off nigga, you not my kind
Must be deaf dumb and blind, I got blood on mine
Me and Ro ain’t now playing, skip nan' state
Slaved over nan' pot, to take a bite off my plate
Ro, I don’t know what the hell wrong with these young niggas
Got a thousand drug habits, want me to front em jiggas
Say you’re a man, try buying your own
So you can quit the silly games, like not answering your phone nigga
When you been the King of the Ghetto, fucking with a bitch
Know I’ve been trying to make chicken salad, out of chicken shit
Just trying to hit another lick
And I hope a snitch ain’t there to witness it
I’d rather slit my wrists fucking going to jail
Where somebody can watch me shit
Yes I’m in love with my freedom
But I take penitentiary chances just to make sure
I never return to wrongest circumstances
That’s the reason, I’m trying to get my cash on nigga
Might even come visit you, with my másk on nigga give it up
Either you real, or you fake
'Cause real niggas don’t fold, don’t bend or break
We just trying to get our cash on nigga
And if you disrespect, we’ll get our blast on nigga
And there you have it, Screwed Up Click for life
And I ain’t fooling, Z-Ro the Crooked
A.K.A.
King of the Ghetto, Mike D A.K.A.
the Black Osama
It’s really going down, Screwed Up Click real talk
All my Crip mo’fuckers, throw your sets up
All my Blood mo’fuckers, throw your sets up
All my four mo’fuckers, throw your sets up
All my brown pride niggas, throw your sets up
All my Mo City niggas, throw your sets up
All my third ward niggas, throw your sets up
All my sunny side niggas, throw your sets up
All my Hiram-Clarke niggas, throw your sets up
All my south-north niggas, throw your sets up
All my worldwide niggas, ha