Phats Bossi - sh** is Real lyrics

Check this out *(Yukmouth talking)* Yes 2wice Uh (What's crackin?) Drink-A-Lot, Smoke-A-Lot (Haha, is that right?) And Phats Bossi Yes All of my n***as ridaz Check it Chorus *(Yukmouth)* All of my n***as ridaz Small time grindas, pimps and big timers Whether it's heiron or hemp wit China Or got a b**h on the strip sellin vagina sh** Is Real One mo time Verse 1 *(Yukmouth of the Luniz)* n***as fat n***a I come down strikin from the clouds like lightnin And smoke the ground Show you how to blow a pound Wit out coughin How to work a Nina Ross wit out walkin Funny style Wit out a half honey child jockin wit out flossin My n***as could peep out what I'm thinkin bout, wit out talkin One look at a crook My n***a book, an then the Tech start barkin Shoot up the whole parkin lot Bullets ricochet apartments Got b**hes slangin martian Wit big titties like Dolly Pardon In the projects Dope fiends loose they check, then flip like Martin Walkin down the street bu*t naked and crack rocks sparkin Startin sh** in front of my buildin Here comes the sargent Raid a n***a house, juss some days to pay a warrant That dirty varmit Back to the Regime conglomerate Where the climate Is always sunny for money The small timers Become grindas Escalate to big timers Pimp n***as got b**hes trickin vagina This sh** Is Real n***a! *(Chorus)* 2x Verse 2 *(2wice)* Give us rememory morse Of course Takin no short fa sho Poppin the cop wit Glocks Like I'm 2Pac Shakur Cuz everyday we high as hell Dope is what we try an sell Nickle and dimes for buyin yayo Til I got lines of clientele Load up yo clip Click-clack Hold up yo sh** Get back If ya know ya sh** Admitt that Roll up a spliff An hit that Roll up the crib Made a n***a cost mail You tried to post But ya lay 'em in a coffin The boss man Whips up another batch Pick up some other scratch Wit clips and some other straps The 2wice suguest you stop Cuz my loot no share Cuz I invest in Glocks How ya shoot that there? I do got playas Pimps slash some hustlas That do got they rapid self Pa** them s**els I flip a Tech wit a muffle Greet the flex wit my muscle The Luniz Doin they thing-ama-jig An it must sell *(Chorus)* 2x Eh! sh** is real! Verse 3 *(Numskull of the Luniz)* n***as feel that When n***as found at Drink-A-Lot wasn't even found yet When 4, 15's was the only sound check Yo, what happened to the side shows When n***as used to ride those Vet's and 50's To be connected drunkin rhinos When b**hes was dusted Sex was like "f** it" An no real n***a was ashamed to ride a bucket When sh** was goin down We followed it If she ain't s**in dick by now She swallowed it Wallow in yo guiltiness Everybody candy And everybody rich like filthiness But I can still see this Ghost Town Ridin to another status Where everything is based on who the baddest We had Lil Kim's But they juss wasn't out the closet An now we got 'em f**in wit each other on some Mobb sh** Mobb sh** Mobb one Mobb two An then I got a Mobb for when there's else to do Get used to the crew Verse 4 *(Phats Bossi) What? See all young guns Where they come from Blocks of hoodlums The fake shooks ones They get touched wit busted ear drums Raw meat Me an Keek Sneek we start the big beat If they mouth leak Wit big heats Get put to sleep Mr. Phats slash Jaco I'm out for pecos Go for gusto Mobb villans we flippin Lexos Never trust those Dirty cats They get the wet nose Get they head froze Thugged Out, playin in wet clothes The life of cut throat Cut throat I'm in my hustle Show my muscle Flex off, then start to tussle Young guys, pushin Hot Rods Begin the saga Blow like Hoffa Stack chips like Godfather sh** Is Real *(Chorus)* 2x