Real Talk (feat. LadyBug)

Yeah, you know what the f*ck goin' on, ayy Ayy, Big Bands Entertainment, that's a label we don't sign with rats I see a lot of haters want me dead because I got the strap If you want me on your song, you gotta pay me fast Heard you got bitched back at high school, man, we don't f*ck with that Middle fingers to that boy L—, man, he's a famous rap I'm from the south with niggas, got ARs with clips and mags 4-5 to your dome, Ah man, now his brain splattered Chopper with a scope, finna to pop you like a tic-tac Free my cousin Willie in that jam, I want my nigga back They tryna take my style, you know I gotta break it back That pillow talkin' to the hoes like some rats If you talkin' all that smack, Glock 40 to your back They don't call me Lil Jon, I will make this pistol snap All this money on my head, man, y'all better get that F*ck a chit-chat, all you heard is click-clack Heard it on my last song, I customized a SIGMAG I done took so many hoes, you can't get your bitch back Heard you tryna kill yourself, cause you can't get your blick back Stop that cryin' on that live, talk about you spinnin' back You don't aim for the chest, this choppa hit yo fitted cap Yeah, my first time rappin', I was six, I knew I was the best Heard you workin' with the cops, man, I knew you was a rat Had to switch this flow up because y'all knew that I ain't gon' snap I was down on my knuckles, I had to take away the past Like I said, ain't nobody fuckin' with me, that's the fact I can't trust nobody, the reason why I got the strap I'm a southside baby, y'all gotta show me some respect Silverstone with the TECs, smokin' crud, I can't pass Folks say he wanna pack, you know I had a Tax his ass And still, free my baby Will, motherfucker feds Freestyle on the dome, I don't even need a pad Beat your ass up with these hands, I don't even need a mac Five shots to his back, now he is a goddamn pad Like I'm Gucci in 06, you can't come to the trap Like, for real, nigga, you can't come to the trap, nigga If you speakin' on the dead, we gon' smoke you like a pack Got a freaky little bitch, and you know she make a clap Hit her once, she gon' wake back up, countin' his cash Like Tupac, we hit him up, no MJ, we do you bad Just got a Glock .23, just shot a whole 30, damn My first time doin' the fraud, the feds was on my ass Don't look at me, look at yourself, pussy boy, get you a bag I'll hit your ass with the switch, it's like your motherfuckin' dad We put a hole in his body, now he in the goddamn casket I'm still that 517 nigga, still ridin' around with the ranch And I got this mac, make you disappear like some magic Heard he got shot six times, pussy boy, you ain't no savage Where I'm from, they gon' catch you slippin' in that traffic And you don't wanna beef with a quant, get you some cabbage Shot him down, stars up in his head, now he Patrick, nigga Pussy Yeah, big lay on this bitch, not the little one Y'all, you already know what the f*ck goin' on They wanna see me, I be talkin' on the beat but they ain't hear me Tryna use me for the clout now I'ma make a nigga feel me Big Lay, too fine, make a nigga wanna eat me Met a nigga who be punchin', told that nigga come and teach me Can't let any nigga f*ck, but he can tease me Can't let a light-skinned nigga f*ck, they too easy Big lay, make a nigga mama wanna meet me Bitch, we gon' stomp, non-step hoes goofy Thinkin' I'ma f*ck for some money, made him lose me Body too slim, that's what made your nigga choose me Been ridin' with the same bitches, not a groupie Bitches ran through, all these bitches lookin' stupid Big head hoes got a brain, better use it Bitch got some legs on her body, make her use them Like a little kid, we run off with your scooter I'm a real boy, I don't entertain these goofies Gotta 100 clips, 100 scenes, let's make a movie Got your thot all up on my phone, she wanna do me Countin' green like I'm Shaggy, but this ain't no Scooby 3.5 in the wood, got me actin' woozy I'm a real nigga for life, I don't even got a cap 30 shots to his back, now he lookin' like a rat I got 32's in this Glock but I ain't talkin' shaq I'm from the South Side, where them niggas got them straps They want that old Quan back, but they ain't gettin' that This how long I been rappin', finna make me lose my breath Now you dead up on the road, postin blicks up on your snap I'm still Quan & Ruthless, nigga, ain't no cap on that