Whoo! Whattup Billy Nix?
Yeah, it's your man Juan!

Yeah (yeahhh yeahhh yeahhh) Street Lord Mafia
It's your man Juan, "The Real Me"
Go get that, in stores everywhere

This a monster kid (yeah) whattup Kino?
"No, talent, rappers!"
Whattup Bo? Yeah, yeah, spit sixteen

Yeah, alright.. yeah



I fell in love with hip-hop, I wanna rap cousin
That's when he gave me a brick, told me wrap some'n
Crack some'n, act some'n, pack some'n, stack some'n

Gat some'n, back stuntin, don't make me clap some'n
I tell ^!$$%z once, then I'm back bustin
Gats dumpin, that's nothin, pass me the bag young'n

I beat ^!$$%z bloody - weak ^!$$%z swear they thugs
'til they mugs full of blood, they say J nutty
We never rock bottom, I'm on the block whylin

Flock ^!$$%z stock pilin, squads out the drop clownin
On my 7-digit, (*##$ you will never get it
Spittin like that, I'm in the kitchen writin raps

with the cheddar sittin, by the glocks and the grams
and the box of seran, in the bakin soda vision
where pots and the pans, rockin a slab

^!$$%z swear they the %#@! 'til they rottin in a bag



"No, talent, rappers!"
You hearin the beat ^!$$%
Real ^!$$%z here witchu Juan

Cutty, Mack, me, Five, Nine
^!$$% streets is mines...
Ride out! C'mon, c'mon

Yeah, the M.I.C.! Yeah, regardless
Yeah, yeah, street BOYS!



Yeah, I'm in the drop with the top up with cash
Mashin the pot with the glock in the stash


You boxin you possibly got you a shot in yo' $$#
Dropped in a box in the trash

Chopped into pieces, stabbed with the top of you leakin
Feet from the opposite half of you reekin
Cops with they badges, keep 'em

I stock 'em for cheap (yeah) charges get dropped
quick as I could get knocked then I'm back on the streets
The untraceable track, mop and the bleach (yeah)

It's a check if he gets on it, spits on it
Wreckin the next ^!$$% destined to flip on it
For that paper with the dead presidents on 'em

Best flow ^!$$% put yo' neck and your wrist on it
A soldier be rollin for dolo, for dollars
Yo' flow to mines is, like a Rover to and Impala






In a spot in a lab - and killin ^!$$%z
is somethin that's probably tagged on a block with the mag

While the track spittin mad, killin whole staffs
Whip opponents, I'm choppin the whole car in half
I'm a gangsta ^!$$%, if I can't care ^!$$%

Shank a ^!$$%, make a ^!$$% shakin 'til he skatin in a
ambulance with the sirens off, in the Benz whippin off
Let my little young'ns take the tires off

Real hip-hop (snitches get dropped)
Cocaine, get rock, operation skip watch
I spit it street cause it's in me

I know "Death is Certain" so I merk a ^!$$% 'fore he merk me
^!$$%z act silly, 'til you catch 'em sizzling
Put the semi-slugs in 'em 'til he %#@! and pissin Remy

I'm a nut punk, bust pump, snatch trunks
Mashed up, smack chumps, look at 'em like "AND WHAT!"




"No, talent, rappers!"