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Текст песни Mr. Serv-On f Brotha Lynch Hung, Master - It`s Real

Mr. Serv-On f Brotha Lynch Hung, Master - It`s Real слова песни

[Chorus]Keeping this realOh baby, keeping its realOh baby, keeping its realOh baby, keeping its realKeeping its real[Brotha Lynch Hung]I put you up nigga, don`t tripYou did your work for that mark and he left you in the darkSkydiving in a bulletproof parachuteNo remorse left you hanging, easy aiming lockdownShoot, the clock sounds twoOne minute till I`m in it got a businessFill they ass to death and get my scrilla in the corner none leftShots out to my nigga in the penn getting switchThat whack bitch tried to stop a nigga from getting richYou can dig a ditch but you won`t find shitLeft you in flames, kept you roach, you can smell the shit when IapproachI be off that stanky sack of indonesiaIt`s an evidential, I leave you hungry eat your cheesaHeard you was sweet like an almond joyAnd I know you heard of me cause I`m a west coast bad boyAnd I`m a sick nigga, sick made (made)It gets real as I pull the pin out this grenade (nade)Body parts like the movie old school oozieRip your arms out from the elbows nigga I smell those green leavesThose sick thieves, a twenty sack of green weedIs all I need, I make you bleed, I take your greenI know you got it from the ice cream manBefore you make that transaction I need to cash in my hand (god damn)And if you don`t we can do the murder man danceUnder any circumstance I`m a have your pans[Chorus][Master P]Brotha Lynch, I`m a make you a deal you can`t refuseMy phone tapped the new code for hafts and hoesIs t-shirts and tennis shoes from the yay I got the sneaker65 for a shoe nigga you got the tweakerMeet me down south, new orleans we bumpingI get this bitch jumping, you got the moneyI got the g`s, flip the keys and the oz`sWe can blow some weed, and talk about that shit smoking some treesBut watch your back, keep your handlebar on cockToo many federal agents pretend to be hustlers but really copsSend across the border nigga like taco bellPulling a plane or boat, UPS, nigga I could get it thereI`m surrounded by cocktails, i mean hoes in mini skirtsAint no free dick out here, it`s time to put in workPut these hoes on a grayhound, fool if it`s going downAnd make em bring it back from my hood to your townAnd it`s all good, nigga it`s like waxAnd we can slang these records like motherfucking crackAnd if they bumping we gotta keep them jumpingCause it`s all about the chedder, the cheese and the money[Chorus][Mr. Serv-On]A criminal tatted from front to back, always bout my jackDoin a dope deal, forget to bring your strap, let it be factI blast first, I know no nigga that slugs in a hurst, who cursedmy dope and moneyI`m leaving more blood stains then a stovebe my wife, live your lifeTill death do us part, start my gangsta bounce, 36 ounceTo a key, got this d.o. dick in your face to tell me the fuck else yougot freeA thousand pounds of that skunk, ready to jump, smokin everything Ican`t humpMaster P and Brotha Lynch HungLet me serve some dip to these niggas with thier tongues outEighteen five in the southTwenty four in the east, see my scrilla blow like geeseCross my fingers for my wife, it`s hot tonightA murder case got away with a hundred g`s and a couple of wild geeksheaded westKapish, a hundred cluckers awaiting my arrivalDirty survival[Chorus]

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Mr. Serv-On f Brotha Lynch Hung, Master - It`s Real
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