Текст песни Chris Brown - Real Hip Hop Shit 3

Leather jacket, relaxing
The movie scenes I’m acting
These rappers practice
I’m at the plate, enough to bat b*tch
Fully smoking locomotive, n*gga, f*ck an adlib
In the club celebrating cause I’m self promoted
Is it a fire? Cause the crowd smoking!
Big Will, she off a pill: rollin’
You know a country n*gga hungry
Waffle house? Open!
But they too broke to pay their bills
So they’re freeloading
But it’s cool, sit down
You know that n*gga rich?
Girl his name: Chris Brown
His chain’s so ugly that it makes a b*tch frown
I’m serving all these n*ggas
But who ordered hash browns?
N*gga, I be like: 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’ma work you out
So you ain’t gotta stretch
Hold up! Let me slow up
Impregnate your beat, I make that b*tch blow up
I eat all I can eat
Until a n*gga throw up
I tell that DJ “Ay! Pull up, pull up”
Man, I’m so sick of these lame motherf*ckas
A n*gga’s still shitting on the game, motherf*cka
Old n*ggas as the world change, muthaf*ckas
Y’all n*ggas still being the same muthaf*cka?
Who else, dawg?
Look, let me go in, then 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 jeweler!
Another hundred racks just to make my chain a cooler
Off that Four Loco, out of my medulla
Wow! I be seeing dead people
Dead prezzies my besties
N*gga, we are not equal
How you get the big picture
Looking from a peephole?
My real n*ggas in the back, but
“He ain’t talking to me tho!”
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