My Nigga For Real

8 Mile

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    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
    Know mad chicks, but still
    [chorus + young zee ad
    Libs]

    [young zee]
    What, bricks (bricks, bricks)

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