Chris Brown - Real Hip Hop Shit #4

Real Hip Hop Shit #4
Real Hip Hop Shit #4

[Intro: Chris Brown]
Hahaha, right
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
I hear ’em talkin’ ’bout this
Can’t fight the feeling
Hahaha, haha
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Leggo, look, haha
Can’t fight the feeling

[Verse 1: Chris Brown]
Do you think I give a **** what you think about me?
I got my chin up, brother walkin’ properly
Almost off them papers, so no coppers bother me
Fuck walkin’ on eggshells, Father, help me please
I’m duckin’ slugs, I’m in higher water so they leech
You got the game effed up, but it’s all G
I choose it ’cause this music’s therapeutic to my brain cells
And when I’m stupid, yeah, I lose it, I don’t think well
Yeah, and for this moolah, I’m a Road Runner
You can’t stop the party, boy, you won’t fuck my fun up
Might just have to call them boys, then they gonna run up
Pretty little facelift, yeah, you gettin’ done up
I light a candle for the homies that’s history
You light a candle just to save electricity
Let me calm down, I don’t wanna get tazed
I just bought this outfit and these shades
I’m ballin’ hard, nigga, hit that replay
And all my haters die slow and decay

[Interlude: Chris Brown]
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Haha, look, haha, leggo
Can’t fight the feeling

[Verse 2: Chris Brown, Kevin McCall]
Give me four quarters and a few Vitamin Waters
I guess to win in this game, I just gotta fuck reporters
(Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
A nigga somersault, naw, it’s not what the doctor ordered
Red shots is on your forehead
(Can’t fight the feeling)
Block up, they recordin’
Now I’m on the West Coast ridin’ in that low-low
With a couple killers who be hidin’ from the popo
Know they got the best smoke, feel like you in slow-mo
But I don’t smoke that shit so, no, that weren’t no promo
V.A., yeah, we hard, bitch
‘Cause everywhere I go, I feel like I’m a target
I’m a star, you just start shit (What’s this?)
Superhero switchin’ fists like I’m Clark Kent

[Interlude: Kevin McCall]
Superman that ho
Check, look

[Verse 3: Kevin McCall]
See the waitress makin’ double, I guess you can say I’m tipsy
I’m all about my hustle like my first name Nipsey
Breezy brought me on, so I be wherever Chris be
I’m the next to blow, believe it or not, Ripley’s
Biggest thing in L.A., how can you miss me?
Tell the bank teller keep them hundreds extra crispy
Cash rules everythin’ around me
I see your mouth movin’ but you ain’t really sayin’ shit like the lip-sync
A lot of chicks on my teams, so they call me coach
My dick game got ’em buggin’, call it cockroach
How you fly as me? I don’t fly coach
Nigga, I’m sick, so when I spit, it’s fuckin’ gross
That’s dope, huh, nigga, that’s dope
Icy in the bitch and I ain’t never seen the slopes
Californication, I’m reppin’ the West Coast
East Side, young niggas, my cousins are straight Locs

[Outro: Kevin McCall]
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Can’t fight the feeling
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Can’t fight the feeling


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.