| 'that's what the f**k I'm talkin' about | |
| That real shit nigga' | |
| Living room packed, laid back on the flow | |
| Niggaz can't see me on the madden with frisco | |
| I'm runnin' fools straight to the dirt | |
| While my man train talkin' on the phone, the evil curse | |
| Niggaz waste gas drivin' down the same streets | |
| And hood rats wishin' for the passenger seats | |
| Flag 'em down, like they flaggin' down to get a taxi | |
| Too good to ride a bus, drinkin' is a must | |
| Another day kickin' back, the scientist is hard at work | |
| Thinkin' how to get paid, kickin' back in the shade | |
| Or call will and temple where my homie down by zeenie | |
| With the bald head it's too hot for the beanie | |
| Sittin' on the porch niggaz run the stop sign | |
| Hookers sell they bodies 'round the way ain't hard to find | |
| Right in the corner of mcdonald's parkin' lot | |
| Peepin' out their hair 'cause that spot is hot | |
| And that's real | |
| (chorus)(2x) | |
| Nigga gotta keep my shit real | |
| Lettin' punk niggaz know how the f**k I feel | |
| Pussy ass niggaz always wanna be around | |
| A nigga like ren when I put that real shit down | |
| Randy up the street cuttin' up the fresh fade | |
| And compton p.d. around the corner 'bout to raid | |
| The yellow helicopter hangin' 'round like a gnat | |
| And hood rats yellin' out a car where the party at | |
| My robbin' train go and get a duce | |
| And niggaz 'round the way don't give a damn about a gang truce | |
| But I gotta lotta love for my people | |
| And like they ain't tryin', niggaz just keep dyin' | |
| I won't be like most niggaz and just come | |
| And shoot my video in compton and disappear for a year | |
| We make fools like that shake the spot | |
| One for the treble jack yo ass in the parkin' lot | |
| 'cause handkerchief headed niggaz come around fakin' | |
| Braggin' 'bout that money they be makin' | |
| Boot lickin' butt dancin' niggaz just better chill | |
| Before I tell 'em how I feel and that's real | |
| (chorus) | |
| Yeah, uh, break it down | |
| All y'all busta ass niggaz | |
| Do it like this, 1995 | |
| Uh, yeah, come all y'all fake ass niggaz to this | |
| Goin' to the pad hit the beach up on the pager | |
| Here comes korleone up the street in the mini-blazer | |
| While the dominoes start to get shakin' | |
| The same time that the barbique start bakin' | |
| I don't eat swine, but I take a turkey burger | |
| I can't fade worms, that books' full of terms | |
| Homies pass by, some stop and conversate | |
| On a gang a topics we start to debate | |
| On why in black neighborhoods is always towed down | |
| And white neighborhoods ain't one piece a trash 'round | |
| So we gotta do for self and quit bitchin' | |
| Recycle black dollars so we can roll impalas | |
| Every street got their own rap artist | |
| On every cover every brother got a gun tryin' to look the hardest | |
| But some deserve a slap 'cause they laid down they strap | |
| When they hear that's a rap and that's real | |
| (chorus) |
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