Real Or Fake - Z-Ro

You can’t get your motherfucking weight up

So you keep your hate up, (straight up)

We gon' show you how it’s done man

King of the Ghetto and Corleone

Screwed up click for life nigga, real talk

Fuck you ol' punk ass, strong enough for a man made ass niggas

I’m a south side nigga, third ward to be exact

Catch me coming down the boulevard, banging Fat Pat

You looking at an American gangsta in the flesh

Broke bread with true G’s, and fronted a few ki’s

Moved out to Cali, graduated to P-T's

O.G.

granddaddy, I’m so fooling

Tell the truth, DJ Screw made me

Without him, ya’ll wouldn’t know Mike D

I was just lil' Mike, Bam had a hogg in training

Running cars in breeze ways, all day standing

While ya’ll had, ya’ll hoes on your mind

I was posted by the labor pool, rocking for rocking them nines

Before and after school, making it pop

Yeah a nigga dropped out, but graduated to blocks

Had a dream, by twenty-one I’d be a millionaire

Few bumps in the road, I’m almost there

Either you real, or you fake

Cause real niggas don’t fold, don’t bend or break

We just trying to get our cash on nigga

And if you disrespect, we’ll get our blast on nigga

I’m a quiet nigga, but I’ve got a competitive nature

Balling out of control, like number eight from the Lakers

I’m Kobe, ain’t no other King of the Ghetto I’m the one and only

I bet all your nieces and nephews, and cousins know me

I rise above the competition, cause they’re so below me

Kinda like what a Geneva watch, is to a Rolly

And I know King Johnny, the real King Johnny

Those diamonds are not shining homie, you’ve never seen Johnny

Screwed Up Click, soldiers united for cash

We legal now, so it ain’t no mo' circles in the stash

Or circles in the door panel, or circles in the dash

Well piss me off and I’ll merk you, now you part of the past

Cause I’m an asshole, by nature

And I don’t love my bitch, I love my paper

And you ain’t shit, if you ain’t never been screwed up

But you gon' take a nasty punch, if I lace my shoes up

Either you real, or you fake

'Cause real niggas don’t fold, don’t bend or break

We just trying to get our cash on nigga

And if you disrespect, we’ll get our blast on nigga

First off nigga, you not my kind

Must be deaf dumb and blind, I got blood on mine

Me and Ro ain’t now playing, skip nan' state

Slaved over nan' pot, to take a bite off my plate

Ro, I don’t know what the hell wrong with these young niggas

Got a thousand drug habits, want me to front em jiggas

Say you’re a man, try buying your own

So you can quit the silly games, like not answering your phone nigga

When you been the King of the Ghetto, fucking with a bitch

Know I’ve been trying to make chicken salad, out of chicken shit

Just trying to hit another lick

And I hope a snitch ain’t there to witness it

I’d rather slit my wrists fucking going to jail

Where somebody can watch me shit

Yes I’m in love with my freedom

But I take penitentiary chances just to make sure

I never return to wrongest circumstances

That’s the reason, I’m trying to get my cash on nigga

Might even come visit you, with my másk on nigga give it up

Either you real, or you fake

'Cause real niggas don’t fold, don’t bend or break

We just trying to get our cash on nigga

And if you disrespect, we’ll get our blast on nigga

And there you have it, Screwed Up Click for life

And I ain’t fooling, Z-Ro the Crooked

A.K.A.

King of the Ghetto, Mike D A.K.A.

the Black Osama

It’s really going down, Screwed Up Click real talk

All my Crip mo’fuckers, throw your sets up

All my Blood mo’fuckers, throw your sets up

All my four mo’fuckers, throw your sets up

All my brown pride niggas, throw your sets up

All my Mo City niggas, throw your sets up

All my third ward niggas, throw your sets up

All my sunny side niggas, throw your sets up

All my Hiram-Clarke niggas, throw your sets up

All my south-north niggas, throw your sets up

All my worldwide niggas, ha