It’s Real lyrics

[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 n*gga, 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 ass to death and get my scrilla in the corner none left
Shots out to my n*gga in the penn getting switch
That whack b*tch tried to stop a n*gga from getting rich
You can dig a ditch but you won't find sh*t
Left you in flames, kept you roach, you can smell the sh*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 n*gga, 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 n*gga 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 damn)
And if you don't we can do the murder man dance
Under any circ*mstance 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 n*gga 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 sh*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 n*gga like taco bell
Pulling a plane or boat, UPS, n*gga I could get it there
I'm surrounded by c*cktails, i mean hoes in mini skirts
Ain't no free di*k 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, n*gga it's like wax
And we can slang these records like motherf*cking 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 n*gga 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. di*k in your face to tell me the f*ck 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 n*ggas 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]