AMG - That's Real lyrics

I holds it down for the convicts that live in a box
And them little grimy niggas that live in them spots
Venimous plots, real nine? Glocks
Spin with the drop
Hammer cocks, sent you a shot
Brooklyn motha fucka, we blend with the blocks
Live niggas, type to spend 10 on a watch
Face lift it Hit it straight nuttin' to taste wit it Fuck shots
Cop bottles, whole case wit it Street war
Niggas don’t beef no more
See the kill for real or don’t eat no more
Sleep no more
Hollow tips’ll eat you raw
Straight through the right cheek of your jaw (blaow)
Lets get it on With the guns drawn
Ride or die
No whats wrong
Gettin' shitted on My reply
Cut you up with some shit that’ll tear your soul
Wrap up if you feel the cold
That’s real
My' spit from my block men
Everyday ya upstate gettin' boxed in Stick a (marriage?) through the gate when they locked in You can hear 'em when they break when they boxed in That’s real
My spit from my street men
All day, smuggle yay pull ya Jeep’s in Never play where you lay we ain’t sleepin'
Spot clean, FED’s dumb let 'em creep in That’s real
I break laws when I want to Jaws when I want to Everybody, get them on the floor when I come through
Know the rules not to move when I come to jam you
Two hammers
One in my hand one in the tan room
The General
I could care less if theres ten of you
I’m built for stress
Do what few men can do Send a few into you
Injured you, you injured two
Mack 11 ya hit your Chevy
Sent it off in his inertubes
Mack pop the pistol well
Cop fish scales
Used to pop a pistol quick
Cock that? shit
Gun still on the missile tip
Hit that main tissue shit
Kidney, lungs, heart, spleen, brain tissue shit
I hit you niggas where it hurt at Where you little niggas they dirt at Where they pump they work at Recognize when the motha fuckin' truth in here
Beanie Sieg hottest thing in the booth this year
That’s real
My spit from my block men
Everyday ya upstate gettin' boxed in Stick a (marriage)? through the gate when they locked in You can hear 'em when they break when they boxed in That’s real
My spit from my street men
All day, smuggle yay pull ya Jeep’s in Never play where you lay we ain’t sleepin'
Spot clean, FED’s dumb let 'em creep in That’s real
Ya little mind and the things that it conjure up Even worse when you Henney’d and Ganja’d up Could see it now
Feet duck taped, arms in cuffs
Your conscience fucked
Pissey be on your bluff
I roll with niggas that’ll clap you up Get locked and wait for you to get knocked and whack you up Stick a motha fuckin' sword in ya Make everybody on the motha fuckin' block see the broad in ya Arm the?
Niggas need to bomb wit us Dawn wit us Bust of they chronic wit us Quiet Money, Roc-A-Fella nigga arm your pups
Play the game before your palms get touched (nigga)
I (spiffin?) niggas doin' a long time
All day, could see new spades and keep a blade on a phone line
Keep the guards payed so they got they own line
Hustle on the block still make they own wine
That’s real
— repeat 3X
My spit from my block men
Everyday ya upstate gettin' boxed in Stick a (marriage?) through the gate when they locked in You can hear 'em when they break when they boxed in Tha’ts real
My spit from my street men
All day, smuggle yay pull ya Jeep’s in Never play where you lay we ain’t sleepin'
Spot clean, FED’s dumb let 'em creep in That’s real