Real Hip-Hop sh*t #3 lyrics

[Intro]
Ah
Don't ah
Don't ah
Don't let love pass you by
Look, look, uh

[Verse]
Leather jacket, relax, in the movie scenes, I'm actin'
These rappers practice, I'm at the plate, another bad b*tch
Fully smokin' locamotive, n*gga, f*ck a ad-lib
In the club celebratin' 'cause I'm so promoted, ha
Is it a fire? 'Cause the crowd smokin'
Big Will, she off a pill, rollin'
You know a country n*gga hungry, Waffle House? Open
But they too broke to pay their bills, so they free-loadin'
But it's cool, sit down
You know that n*gga is? Girl, his name Chris Brown
His chain's so ugly that it make a b*tch frown
I'm servin' all these n*ggas, but who ordered hash browns?
n*gga, I be like (I be like)
Huh, y-y-yup, yeah, I got the check
And I just paid your bills, so yes, I want some sex
Ha, but first, can I kiss your neck?
And I'ma work you out, so you ain't gotta stretch
Ho-Ho-Hol' up, let me slow up
Impregnate the beat, I make that b*tch blow up
I eat all I can eat until a n*gga throw up
I tell that DJ, "Ayy, pull up, pull up"
Man, I'm so sick of these lame motherf*ckers
A n*gga still sh*ttin' on the game, motherf*cker
Old n*ggas as the world change motherf*ckers
Y'all n*ggas still bein' the same motherf*cker?
Who else, dawg? Look
Let me go in, then I count more ends
My Timbs eleven, and your friends in my Benz
The engine on that Viper 220
And it's green in the trunk, but that's new money
Watch Franck Muller, my Ruger
Cut that sh*t fire, I just shot my jeweler
Another hunnid racks just to make my chain look cooler
Off that foreign loco, out of my medulla, wow
I be seein' dead people, dead prezzies my besties
n*gga, we are not equal (Yeah)
How you get the big picture lookin' from a peephole?
My real n*ggas in the back, like, "He ain't talkin' to me though"
I know you mad 'cause I afford it
TMZ, I'm wipin' my ass, so stop recordin'
Supposedly a singer can't do hip-hop
But I just killed this sh*t, so let the sh*t rock