K-RINO - YOU AIN'T REAL LYRICS
Artist: K-rino Lyrics
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Date: Added(Last modified) at 6:54 am October 07, 2012.
[Verse One] I been bustin rhymes since 84 And motherfuckers got the nerve to ask me to do a free show Aint that a Bitch, with a capital B If I rap it'll be, for pay, here on out, never free This ain't the day for being fraud Every fool that gotta tape out in the rap game be swearin up and down they hard The most pimpiness, the most mackiness pushin most keys, hardest nigga, most jackiness I used to have a lotta partners in the game Till a struggle came, and just like a women, it make a man change You need to quit being fake and illegite Don't be asking me how many tapes I sold if you ain't buy my shit Steppin to K-Rino, lips in a straight pucker Little sweet potato pie ass motherfuckers The game you runnin boy gon' get you straight killed or hurt Tryna cap, when you know we both broke as dirt [Hook] Cuz you ain't real, motherfucker, you ain't real Poppin all that weak shit, thinking you got skill You ain't real, motherfucker, you ain't real Claiming you the man when you out there in the field [Verse Two] I
ain't no gangsta, but sometimes I fuck around wit 'em But every homeboy that I roll wit', they know that I'll get down wit 'em I spit my trash going deep from the past flowin I'm tired of girls walkin around wit they ass showin The cash growin, gettin dollars shoved up your crack Half them fools getta dance and snatch they paper back Next day she waitin, for the bus, on the cut, check it 17 years old, dancing at there butt naked Disrespected, unprotected, think you built to last Same crusty little panties on your filthy ass Talkin bout you own a good man, you lyin now At the motherfuckin flea market buying hair Getting ready to hit the club at 12 'o clock mid Callin around tryna find somebody to keep your kids Gotta ??nuttin?? on the way, still smokin blunts Pregnant than a motherfucker, in the club at seven months [Hook] Cuz you ain't real, lil mama, you ain't real Hoppin your ass in every car that pass, you better chill You ain't real, you ain't real, lil mama, you ain't real Fake eyes, fake hair, fake n
ails, fake grill [Verse Three] I used to tell my little homeboy, "don't run wit' them fools Aint nuthin but murder in them streets, why don't you done go to school" Broke down all the drama that they gave K-Rino How they show my album cover on that cop killin show How ourself, and the government, keep holdin us back How them punk ass, perpetratin hoes invented that crack How a black man a sell is soul once he get rich How he fuck over a women and then call her a bitch North side against the south side, leave it alone Killin eachother over land that we don't even own Understand that's the plan, I'm tired of sayin that shit I'm smokin this, i'm smokin that, why the radio playin that shit I try to do right, but tonight, I might as well blast Let the preacher give the sermon while he sang for yo ass And when I click, on these haters, all the laughin gonna stop Pop pop, pop pop pop, till the whole world drop, cuz you ain't real [Hook] You ain't real, motherfucker, you ain't real Tryna buy some Jordans
wit a 20 dollar bill (you ain't real) You ain't real, motherfucker, you ain't real Claiming you my homeboy, but trick, I know the deal (you aint real)
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