Be Real - Lil Scrappy

If you a thug my nigga be a thug

If you sell drugs my nigga then sell drugs

If you gonna rap about it be trill about it

And dont say shit if you can’t BE REAL about it

Comin up as a child all I seen was Hell

Momma stepped, Daddy sold yay, stayed in and out of jail

I came robbin and kickin in doors

Then went from a half to sellin ten O’s

But ya see shorty, My mom was a G

She made it real easy for my sista and me

She did what she had to do

And go on the damn grind like a nigga would do

Talkin about pimpin, o she did that too

I got robbed because a old nigga took all my loot

And I was just 12 years old goin on 13, which made me bold

That’s why I thank my heart is so cold

I gives a fuck about none of you hoes

All you fake thugs think about is grillin wit gold

Replacin yo does (shawty), and cakin these hoes

(shorty) and cakin these hoes

I’mma pimp, I spend my time makin these hoes

Nobody loves me so I guess I stay to myself

A nigga thankin 'bout change contemplatin my death

Feel my pain as it rains all over a nigga

And the only way I can get away is weed and liquor

Fuckin niggas up on the daily if they didn’t pay me

Niggas pullin guns on me damn near drove me crazy

Young nigga went to school just to sell some dope

A lil crazy ass nigga wit a knife in his coat

And in the streets broke heathens went through drama especially

Momma swung on a nigga, I stabbed a bitch in the head

I don’t scratch my head unless it itches

And I don’t smoke unless I’m bustin at you hatin bitches

Niggas, we was bred to die, don’t be askin me why

I’ll rather hustle in the cold cause niggas prayin wit fire

All the childhood issues when the Devil’s out to get ya

Got my mind on my gun and I shall pull pistol

(Bohagen) You see the streets, they’ll swallow you whole

Your mind, body, and soul

And leave you in a ditch, cold, wit no shoes and clothes

Be waitin for the trash collector

Follow me now selector to the ghetto sector

They’ll kill you over thirty dollars

I seen a man cut wit a dirty bottle blood squirted on his shirt and collar

I heard him holla a sound that I can’t forget

Ran home, watched cartoons and ain’t said shit

And to this day, Momma thought I was up at the park

While she was at the church praising the lord

I made it through amazingly unscarred

She had to be praying, because I made it by the graces of God

A product of hard times, I spit hard rhymes

Bible in one, the other hard iron

Dreaming of naming streets and boulevards mine

Grab yo piece of the pie, the other parts mine