Young Zee - My Nigga for Real Lyrics by Soundtracks

Young Zee - My Nigga for Real Lyrics


    Uh, Zee
    I got waiting haze, my customers ho's, sleep with me
    We have small beef, I still sell them O's for three fifty
    They know in big beef, I pop a hundred times
    Be like roadkill, I live nigga's brains on one and nines
    And my down bitches, they be ready to kill
    I be like chill, they be like..

    [Chorus]
    That's my nigga for real (Yea, uh huh, I'm from the Bricks, we be like)
    That's my nigga for real (Yea, Young Zee, all my niggas from the hood, they be like)
    That's my nigga for real (Yea, B-Boy, you my nigga, talk to 'em)

    [B-Boy]
    Yo, I don't give a fuck if we don't sell a record
    We still gon' get this money in the Bricks
    Spill it, Zee

    [Young Zee]
    Yea, uh, yea, yea
    I'm like, Santa Claus, I deliver niggas grams a raw
    Straight from Panama, fiends eat it up like canavaugh
    And my dimes disappear like magic wands
    I sell 'em, 'til the crack of dawn and destroy every track I'm on
    Plus I have a clam packed in the back of vans
    More royal than the Taliban murk you for a half a gram
    (What?) I get B-Boy to drop your truck in the river
    Fuck some dough, we be like..

    [Chorus + Young Zee ad libs]

    [Young Zee]
    Yea, jeah, Uh-huh-ha, yea
    Scarecrow (what?), I'm trying to walk before I crawl
    I want it all ever since I came out of my mama's walls
    I'm trying to make so much dough when I write a song
    I can write 'em all why y'all clique on the corner selling final calls
    Yea, niggas mad at us, gladiators like Maximas, we fabulous
    While you fall off like Canibus's managers
    My man Dee U, keep the nina peelin'
    (Point 'em out, and watch me)

    [Chorus + Young Zee ad libs]

    [Young Zee]
    Zee need Buddha, E-user, beef pre Lugers
    Spittin' from our PT cruisers
    My tape don't drop, I still got dough to make
    Got little niggas on roller skates holding my coke and weight
    Blow paper, ho chaser, dough raiser, Joe Fraizer
    Sixteen cellys and four pagers
    Go hype up your squad that they might fuck with ours
    I just, light up cigars, go by bikes, trucks, and cars
    I got (?) In Atlanta deep, 'round the street, ten grand a week
    I give 'em one word to put your man to sleep
    And I love my Jersey live bitches
    They'll leave a nigga face, with thirty five stitches
    They'll help my tie cinder blocks and push your kids
    So deep in the ocean, they'll see where octopuses live
    Jeah, this label deal is for Raz, Pace, and Chill
    I know mad chicks, but still

    [Chorus + Young Zee ad libs]

    [Young Zee]
    What, Bricks (Bricks, Bricks)

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