Real Hip-Hop Shit #3

[Verse 1] Look look uh, leather jacket, relaxing, these movie scenes I'm acting These rappers attract some massive play, another bad bitch Fully smoking locamotive, nigga, fuck a ad-lib In the club celebrating cause I'm so promoted Is it a fire? Cause the crowd is smoking Big Will, she off a pill, rolling You know a country nigga hungry, Waffle House? Open But they too broke to pay their bills, so they free-loading But it's cool, sit down You know that nigga there? Yell his name Chris Brown His chain's so ugly that it makes a bitch frown I'm serving all these niggas, but who ordered hash browns? Nigga, I be like, huh yeah I got the check And I just paid your bills, so yes I want some sex Hah, but first, can I kiss your neck? And I'mma work you out, so you ain't gotta stretch Hol' up, let me slow up Impregnate your beat, I make that bitch blow up I eat all I can eat until a nigga throw up I tell that DJ "Ay, pull up, pull up" Man, I'm so sick of these lame motherfuckers A nigga still shitting on the game, motherfucker Old niggas as the word change motherfuckers Y'all niggas still being the same motherfucker? Who else, dawg? Let me go in, and I count more ends My tints 11, 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 Frank Mueller, my Ruger Cut that shit fire,I just shot my jeweller Another hundred racks just to make my chain a cooler Off that loco, out of my medulla Wow, I be seeing dead people, dead prezzies my besties Nigga, we are not equal How you get the big picture looking from a peephole? My real niggas in the back, like "He ain't talking to me though" I know you mad cause I afford it TMZ, I'm wiping my ass, so stop recording Supposedly a singer, can't do hip-hop But I just killed this shit, so let the shit rock