Laylaw - Really Doe lyrics

[Intro] *Gun shot* "Ain't nobody talkin when I'm talkin fellas so shut the f** up!" ("And who the f** are you?") Ohh.. steppin up in my motherf**in uhh.. Chuck Taylors, Knick kickers, Wallabee's On my a** I got the umm.. um.. khakis, 501's On my back I got the uhh.. sweatshirt You know, with the fat three creases Uhh, my t-shirt, Slingshot, uhh.. khaki shirt Umm, and I got the Cake cutter in my—in my pocket Uhh, got the afro, the braids Motherf**in uhh, rollers "You got to believe in somethin" And I just ask my motherf**in self, uhh "Why not believe in me?" [Verse 1] To G or not to G, is the question And like Smith told Wesson I'm shady with the .380 old school diploma I'll leave that a** in a coma, so If you got a herringbone, Welcome to the Terrordome Two-eleven, sorry Reverend Oh my god, gettin robbed Reach for the smog, "Atomic Dog" Hard to swallow, janky as Rollo Count to ten, and don't try to follow Cause just like Waco, I can take fo' ATF, to they d**h Bust a left on Western, go and get a room Don't want to be a felon like Stacey Koon Get the right b**h, hit the light switch, here we go Tap that a** like this - really doe [Hook] "You got to believe, somethin.." West Side Lynch Mob "I got to believe in me.." Cause I'm a motherf**in G Cause I'm a mother-f**in.. {"And who the f** are you?"} [Verse 2] Thirty in a holdin tank, catch the vapors Make me a pillow out of toilet paper Concrete bench kickin' off the hemorrhoids; Eses deep, don't f** with dem boys Phone check, collect call from the baller Her mama said please don't call her Do-Wah-Diddy, far from New Jack City Seen one of my peers, "What the f** you doin in here?" He said, "One-eighty-seven on the enemy And they treat me like I just shot a Kennedy!" Deputy b**h thinks she's the Queen Bee Ink on my thumb, index, and pinky. "Sir, what set you from?" Play dumb "General popu-la-tion" Mama put your house up, and I can bounce up Out this motherf**er, that's why I love ya Out like a boss, with a half-pint of sauce Got the sh** sewed up like Betsy Ross What a friend know? Buy some indo Never f** with a silly ho - really doe [Hook] [Verse 3] Knock you out like NyQuil, I'll k** you quick You s**er-for-love-a** trick So don't run up, wit ya gun up Cause I got the back breaker, double pump rump shaker Cause we can play hookie in the Aqua Boogie With concrete Nikes, ya gets no stripes Livin unforgiven with the mic on And punks runnin like roaches with the light on And that's all the sh** I'm startin Bust a cap (ka-kow-POW) like Jerome on Martin You lookin for a punk with benefits Cause you got a baby, that take many sh**s And you know I got a grip like a baby on a tit Scopin', hopin', thighs open But I kick back, six-pack, and hit the Phillie slow Hooker ho - really doe [Hook X2]