Laso - Ain't Real lyrics

Brothers wanna know, what’s goin’ on about the 4-1-1 On the group, and so on and so forth So what you talk for, you know what I came for A motherf**in’ ground war Talkin’ that same old style Same old song, same old thang Sweatin’ yourself, you’re gettin’ busy yo Huh, but you still can’t hang I’d rather rip, and still the flip trip On the mic grip and hit, and then trip Into I never ever miss yo You still ain’t sh** Thinkin’ you’re all that, you’ve got The rep and props but you still can’t rap Wanna talk about a wannabe, never gonna be Ever gonna be, who’s gonna see Come near here, come here child yeah I got flavor, style, compare [Unverified] Yo, you can’t compete You wanna steal my voice, steal our sound Steal my beats, you wanna f** around I don’t play son, shorts do I take none You need help better call 9-1-1 Or the Beatles, or Susannah Drink you up like a cup of Tropicana juice I got more, flowin’ like a river Yeah, style’s what I give ya Shakin’ ‘em, keep fakin’ ‘em, make make makin’ ‘em Takin’ ‘em, bakin’ ‘em, no mistaken ‘em Dope, hyper, raw def MC Wanna talk about a man, yo who is he or she You got nerve to even talk that What about that, yeah, what’s up with that rumor talkin’ We can’t make a hit We’ve been makin’ hits while you’ve been s**in’ dicks Around the town, lookin’ for a hardcore deal Yeah, you ain’t real n***az, yeah, you ain’t real n***az,yeah,you ain’t real n***az, you ain’t real n***az, yeah, you ain’t real n***az, who are you? You ain’t real n***az, yeah, you you ain’t real n***az, man n***az, get out my face Yeah, motherf**ers wanna blast I keep rhymes in store for they a** They ain’t got the style to kick no sh** I bust rhymes and heat and just blow sh** out Let me ask one question You think I fell off? Well come test then You ain’t the man to stop the Big X f** around become [unverified] next Yes, sh** is gettin’ wild Very wild, slick and much wild But watch when I come with the Rhythm X sh** Then after that, motherf**ers wanna quit Whether or not, you like it or not, you’re wack it’s true Your whole crew sound doo doo I keep tissue to wipe the first face I’m like a team that stays in first place Winnin’, like the motherf**in’ Giants You got rhymes to kick? Then drop science Math, English, f** it I said it Yo Ced, come and grab the mic Yo let’s begin with a phrase that’s quite hype I’ll control with soul Gee get right Into the mix like a DJ spinnin’ on The crowd is buggin, rememberin’, “Bring it On” The phrase that stand to all that wanna try To step to the Gee get roast and I wonder why Hmm, like Arsenio Hall said, I think You rhyme like bu*ter you’re soft and you’re quite stink Tryin’ to perpetrate, sayin’ you’re hard right You hit money grip you’re fake like a bad night-mare with Freddie, you know you’re not ready You sound immature, like a amateur petty Yeah (You ain’t ready) Tto step on the stage, get hit with the rhyme jab Just like the Flintstones, I’ll break like bam bam Bam bam bam bam bam I’m smoke ya You slept on the Gee, better yet, true Ultra But now we’re back and, MC’s we’re slappin’ We’re givin’ no slack and, because you’re wack And yeah, you ain’t real n***az, yeah, you ain’t real n***az, yeah, you ain’t real n***az, yeah, you ain’t real n***az, who are you? You ain’t real n***az, yeah, you you ain’t real n***az, man get out my face