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Artist: Buddha Monk f/ Floorless
Album:  Zu-Chronicles, Vol. 2: Like Father Like Son
Song:   Real Niggas
Typed by: Cno Evil

Yo, real niggas move up, fake niggas stand where ya at
Guns so big up, you get shot in the front and land in the back
You plannin' to stack, these cannons'll clap
I light you up in your sixth with ya chick hand on your lap
I never hate, I'm always first to get my hand to a cap
My reflections is too quick, I got the hands of a cat
So don't reach, I rap, homeboy, I don't preach
Next time you hear a gangsta flow, talk and don't speak
And don't think about rapping while I'm here, you won't eat
I'm 18, great flow and gray beam, don't sleep
Fake or real, I'll show you how to take a deal
And if your flow ain't sick as mine, I can make it ill
I know fiends in rehab that still baking crills
Beating flows like giving a tred of vacant mill
I'm too nice, this kid'll roll trips with two dice
I've been around twice, pulled trips in two nights

[Chorus 4X: Floorless]
Real niggas move forward, fake niggas stand still
Real bitches shake that ass, fake bitches act real

Yo, you'se a gangsta, go 'head, prove it to me now
You got a gun on your waist, go 'head, use it on me now
I wish a nigga'll act up, while these tools are in me now
The last that tried it, dead, plus his jewels is on me now
Close range, his uzi's on me, now, I told him that I troop
Up and down the block, with four pounds, and uzi's on me now
Nigga I scoop you up, and leave your cuggi on the ground
Unsolved mysteries, make a movie on 'em now
True bitches understand us, fake bitches don't
Cuz they don't know what the plan is, most importantly
Flow far from what they man is, way better in fact
Your girl leave you for me, she may never come back
I'mma show you how the kid do, and how the kid blew
Promoting crack to rap, I do not kid you
Kid you ain't on my level, talking bout you chilling
Shining all day, you ain't on my bezel

[Chorus 4X]

The real niggas, ya'll know what to do, fake niggas, you to
Real bitches, just tell the fake bitches to do what you do
Teach 'em how to hop on it, ride cock as well as you do
Let 'em know that I'm daddy, and they ain't no time for Fubu
Now that's real, ain't nothing fake about this
Ask my mother, she tell you ain't nothing fake about Chris
I've been through the struggle, and players, I done injured a couple
Whether they came in for dolo, or they in to the cuddle
It's nothing, so simple to touch you, stay headless
You in the game, let's see if you can play headless
I'm real, and that's that, I put my life on the track
And I'm ill, and you wack, what you writing is crack
Plus I'm still, one of the best, with a gun and a vest
And you still, one of the floppest, with broken guns in your closet
Money in the bank, trust me, I open up son deposit
Take back until the next track, hold his mother for hostage

[Chorus 4X]