Chris Brown - Real Hip-Hop Shit #3 Lyrics
Leather jacket, relaxingThese movie scenes I'm actingThese rappers attract some massive playAnother bad *****Fully smoking locamotive, nigga, ***** a?In the club celebrating cause I'm so promotedIs it a fire? Cause the crowd is smoking! Big Will, she off a pill: rollinYou know a country nigga hungryWaffle house? Open! But they too broke to pay their billsSo they're freeloadingBut it's cool, sit downYou know that nigga there? Yell his nameChris BrownHis chain's so ugly that it makes a ***** frownI'm serving all these niggasBut who ordered hash browns?Nigga, I be like: yeah I got the checkAnd I just paid your bills, so... yesI want some sexHah! But first, can I kiss your neck?And I'mma work you outSo you ain't gotta stretchHolla! Let me slow upImpregnate your beat, I make that ***** blow upI eat all I can eatUntil a nigga throw upI tell that DJ "ay! Pull up, pull up"Man, I'm so sick of these lame mother*****asA nigga's still shitting on the game, mother*****aOld niggas at the world trade mutha*****asY'all niggas still being the same mutha*****as?Who else, dawg?Let me go in, and I count more endsMy tints 11, your friends in my BenzThe engine on that Viper 220And it's green in the trunk, but that's new moneyWatch: Frank Mueller, my RugerCut that shit – fire. I just shot my jeweler! Another hundred racks just to make my chain a coolerOff that loco, out of my medullaWow! I be seeing dead peopleDead prezzies my bestiesWe are not equal. How you get the big pictureLooking from a peephole?My real niggas in the back, like"He ain't talking to me tho!"I know you mad because I afford itTMZ, I'm wiping my ass, so stop recordingSupposedly a singer, can't do hip-hopBut I just killed this shit, so let theShit rock
