album cover
Real N*gga Sh*t
687
Gangsta Rap
Real N*gga Sh*t was released on June 29, 2010 by Bearfaced Music / Rapbay / Urbanlife Music as a part of the album Real N*gga Sh*t
album cover
Release DateJune 29, 2010
LabelBearfaced Ent. / Rapbay / Urbanlife Distribution
LanguageEnglish
Melodicness
Acousticness
Valence
Danceability
Energy
BPM91

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
HD of Bearfaced
HD of Bearfaced
Performer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
HD
HD
Producer

Lyrics

All I can think about is killing you ****
Fucking up my concentration
Pussy ass ****
Fake ass ****
**** better chill
H check more bills than Hillary
Stack funds for the war, I tote heavy artillery
I never let a bitch or a bitch **** get to me
My **** blow big instruments like a symphony
Sliding in the other thing with whoppers like Burger King
Dressed up like a bum, wrapped up on you, hit you close range
Spin a sucka, bend, turn your block into a murder scene
50 Cal got me heavy handed like Butterbean
It melt soon as it hit the pipe, that's buttercream
Sunday I'm bagging up grams with a triple beam
Monday the hoes trick or treat, no Halloween
Tuesday I'm trapping out the house 'til my phone ring
No wedding ring, too young for a white man
But baby we can get the kind of cake with the icing
Cause I'm riding dirty in the whip, no license
Still on call on the late night tip
Click clack the dice, throw my guap on the pavement
They charge a late fee, slow motion on my payment
Cook it like Cajun, I only fuck with made men
They thought it was an accident, it really was a paid hit
Welcome to the ice where I make a knock pay debt
Smack every bank in the town with a blank check
Get money falling out the sky like a rain check
I smoke granddad, no trainwreck
No jammer, but this Tec in the hands of High Def
Bullets fly east and west, dissect the chest
Sipping on the best, prometh on my breath
Noddin' out, kissing on what I got left
Ice City, Island Nights, **** know what I'm repping
Freeze a sucka on sight with them deuce deuce threeses
You ain't my pussy, don't even front
I know you fake cause I fuck with real **** where you from
The ice got him spooked, now you just a house ****
See me bang heads ****, I'm just a young cap peeler
Fill up a hundred shoeboxes, stack skrilla
Take the work off cross country and tax ****
Three Phillies and a Sprite when I go in the hood store
Access your souls, just me and my hood folk
Never know if I'll see tomorrow, I'ma knock on wood though
Gotta be around to teach my daughter things that she should know
The streets got me going loco
I knock my partner down for 14 kicks like Alpo
Get rained on if you ain't with the issue
Aim too accurate, I'm guaranteed to clip you
Real **** shit, can't breathe around a fake bitch
Banker man accumulate dough like cake mix
Young and restless, getting guap 'til I'm retired
Catch me up early, fresh off of all nighters
Written by: Howard Sturghall
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