Chris Brown - Real Hip-Hop Shit #3

Real Hip-Hop Shit #3
Real Hip-Hop Shit #3

[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 bitch
Fully smokin’ locamotive, nigga, fuck 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 nigga 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 nigga is? Girl, his name Chris Brown
His chain’s so ugly that it make a bitch frown
I’m servin’ all these niggas, but who ordered hash browns?
Nigga, 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 bitch blow up
I eat all I can eat until a nigga throw up
I tell that DJ, “Ayy, pull up, pull up”
Man, I’m so sick of these lame motherfuckers
A nigga still shittin’ on the game, motherfucker
Old niggas as the world change motherfuckers
Y’all niggas still bein’ the same motherfucker?
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 shit 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
Nigga, we are not equal (Yeah)
How you get the big picture lookin’ from a peephole?
My real niggas 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 shit, so let the shit rock

 

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