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Chorus
Keeping this real
Oh baby, keeping its real
Oh baby, keeping its real
Oh baby, keeping its real
Keeping its real
Brotha Lynch Hung
I put you up nigg*, don't trip
You did your work for that mark and he left you in the dark
Skydiving in a bulletproof parachute
No remorse left you hanging, easy aiming lockdown
Shoot, the clock sounds two
One minute till I'm in it got a business
Fill they as* to death and get my scrilla in the corner none left
Shots out to my nigg* in the penn getting switch
That whack b*tch tried to stop a nigg* from getting rich
You can dig a ditch but you won't find s**t
Left you in flames, kept you roach, you can smell the s**t when I
approach
I be off that stanky sack of indonesia
It's an evidential, I leave you hungry eat your cheesa
Heard you was sweet like an almond joy
And I know you heard of me cause I'm a west coast bad boy
And I'm a sick nigg*, sick made (made)
It gets real as I pull the pin out this grenade (nade)
Body parts like the movie old school oozie
Rip your arms out from the elbows nigg* I smell those green leaves
Those sick thieves, a twenty sack of green weed
Is all I need, I make you bleed, I take your green
I know you got it from the ice cream man
Before you make that transaction I need to cash in my hand (god d*mn)
And if you don't we can do the murder man dance
Under any circumstance I'm a have your pans
Chorus
Master P
Brotha Lynch, I'm a make you a deal you can't refuse
My phone tapped the new code for hafts and hoes
Is t-shirts and tennis shoes from the yay I got the sneaker
65 for a shoe nigg* you got the tweaker
Meet me down south, new orleans we bumping
I get this b*tch jumping, you got the money
I got the g's, flip the keys and the oz's
We can blow some weed, and talk about that s**t smoking some trees
But watch your back, keep your handlebar on c*ck
Too many federal agents pretend to be hustlers but really cops
Send across the border nigg* like taco bell
Pulling a plane or boat, UPS, nigg* I could get it there
I'm surrounded by c*cktails, i mean hoes in mini skirts
Aint no free d*ck out here, it's time to put in work
Put these hoes on a grayhound, fool if it's going down
And make em bring it back from my hood to your town
And it's all good, nigg* it's like wax
And we can slang these records like motherfking crack
And if they bumping we gotta keep them jumping
Cause 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 jack
Doin a dope deal, forget to bring your strap, let it be fact
I blast first, I know no nigg* that slugs in a hurst, who cursed
my dope and money
I'm leaving more blood stains then a stove
be my wife, live your life
Till death do us part, start my gangsta bounce, 36 ounce
To a key, got this d.o. d*ck in your face to tell me the fk else you
got free
A thousand pounds of that skunk, ready to jump, smokin everything I
can't hump
Master P and Brotha Lynch Hung
Let me serve some dip to these with thier tongues out
Eighteen five in the south
Twenty four in the east, see my scrilla blow like geese
Cross my fingers for my wife, it's hot tonight
A murder case got away with a hundred g's and a couple of wild geeks
headed west
Kapish, a hundred cluckers awaiting my arrival
Dirty survival
Chorus