Brotha Lynch Hung - It's Real lyrics

rate me

Hey man, it's real

Knowin that

Hey man, it's real

Knowin that

Hey man, it's real

Knowin that

Hey man, it's real

Knowin that

I put you up nigga, don't trip

You did your dirt for that mark

And he left you in the dark

Sky-divin' in a bullet-proof parachute

No remorse, left you hangin

Easy aimin, lock down shoot

The Glock sounds tootin

One minute til' I'm in it

Got a business, still they ass to death

And get my scrill up in the corner, none left

Shots out to my nigga in the pen.

Didn't switch, didn't act bitch

Try to stop a nigga from gettin rich

You could dig a ditch, but you won't find shit

Left you in flames, kept the roach

You can smell the shit when I approach

I be off that stanky sack of indo-nesia

It's a evidential

I leave you hungry, eat yo cheese up

Heard you was sweet, like a Almond Joy

And I know you heard of me

Cause I'm a West-Coast Bad Boy

And I'm a sick nigga, "Sicc made! "

It gets real as I pull the pin out this grenade!

"Body Parts" like the movie

Old school Uzi

Rip yo arms out from the elbows

Nigga I smell those green leaves

The six thieves

A twenty-sack of green weed is all I need

I make you bleed, I take yo cream

I know you got it from the "Ice Cream Man"

Before you make that transaction

I need the cash in my hand

And if you don't, we can do the murder-man dance

Under any circumstance, I'm a have yo hands

Brotha Lynch, I'm a make you a deal you can't refuse

My phone tapped

The new code for halfs and wholes is t-shirts and tennis-shoes

From the yay, I got the sneakers

Sixty-five for a shoe nigga, if you got the tweakers

Meet me down-south, New Orleans we bumpin

I get this bitch jumpin, you got the money

I got the g's, flip the ki's, and the o-z's

We could blow some weed

And talk about this shit smokin some trees

But watch yo back, keep yo handle bar cocked

Too many Federal Agents pretend to be hustlers, but really cops

Send it across the border, nigga like Taco Bell

Put it in a plane, a boat, UPS, nigga I could get it there

I'm surrounded by cocktails, I mean hoes in mini-skirts

Ain't no free dick out here, it's time to put in work

Put these hoes on a Greyhound, fool if it's goin down

And make 'em bring it back, from my hood, to your town

And it's all good, nigga it's like wax

And we could slang these records like motherfuckin crack

And if they bumpin, we gotta keep 'em jumpin

Cause it's all about the cheddar, the cheese, and the money

A criminal tatted front-to-back

Always 'bout my jack

Doin a dope-deal, forget to bring yo strap

Let it be fact, I blast first

I know no nigga that smart in a hearse

Who cursed, my dope and money life

A Eagle with blood stains in the scope

Be my wife, live yo life

Til' death do us part

Start my gangsta bounce

Thirty-six ounce, to a ki

Got this T-O-D in ya face

Now tell me the fuck else you got free

A thousand pounds of that skunk

Ready to jump, smokin everything I can, huh

Master P, and Brotha Lynch Hung

Let me serve some dick to these niggas with they tongues out

Eighty-five in the south

Twenty-four in the east

See my scrilla, blow like yeast

Cross my fingers, pull my wife

It's hot tonight

A murder case, got away with a hundred g's

And a couple of wild geese, headed west

Capiche?

A hundred clunkers waitin my arrival

Dirty... survival