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(feat. Brotha Lynch Hung, Master P) [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 nigga, 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 nigga in the penn getting switch That whack bitch tried to stop a nigga from getting rich You can dig a ditch but you won't find shit Left you in flames, kept you roach, you can smell the shit when I approach I be off that stanky sack of indonesia It's an evidential, I leave you hungry eat your cheesa Letras de cancionesHeard 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 nigga, 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 nigga 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 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 nigga you got the tweaker Meet me down south, new orleans we bumping I get this bitch 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 shit smoking some trees But watch your back, keep your handlebar on cock Too many federal agents pretend to be hustlers but really cops Send across the border nigga like taco bell Pulling a plane or boat, UPS, nigga I could get it there I'm surrounded by cocktails, i mean hoes in mini skirts Aint no free dick 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, nigga it's like wax And we can slang these records like motherfucking 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 nigga 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. dick in your face to tell me the fuck 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 niggas 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] From Letras Mania