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real shit - ross fyles tha don lyrics

(intro)

guru: take the money never have to run
take the money never have to run
(all for the cash sample)
take the money never have to run

ross fyles tha don: 2020

verse one:
got no love for people who ain’t in my life nomore
still a real f*cking don, that’s what i write this for
with some hardcore tracks
with some hardcore raps
and some hardcore gats that will blast at ya fat slag
i’m strong not physically but lyrically
put 3 shots in ya & call that sh*t a trilogy
one in your eye socket, hole in one
and then your soul is gone and you f*cking know it’s don
my trigger fingers itchy when i’m reaching for the john
you know the one
light you up like a cop car
bullets flying over your head looking like a cross bar
everyday i’m seeing toasters like a pop tart
you ain’t a rapper you’re a pop star
b*tch singing on the f*cking hook
f*ck that i’ve got the gat in my waist
and i’ll let it clap in your face
let the clip hit the concrete i’m snapping your bones
attacking your homes
with c4 attached to a drone
ducking shots then i squeeze the gat
my flows cold like water from a freezing tap
ain’t no realer than that
ain’t no giving it back
i’ll pick my clip back up and let it slip in the mac
hold my sh*t sideways and let them stick in your back
you can phone the plod on me coz i ain’t tripping off that
i’m robbing muppets for a living yeah i’m living off that
remy bottle in my hand yeah im sipping from that
and now never happy i keep looking at the down side
when i’m looking at my bars i’m seeing pound signs
you’re looking for ya b*tch the little trick she’s round mine
you lost your b*tch but sh*t i think i’ve found mine
no time for a b*tch i think i’ve found time
matter of fact give me 5 minutes more
if i want to get a strap then its a 5 minute walk
if you want to test me find yourself inside of a morgue
coroners pulling slugs from inside of your corpse
leaving lyrics floating round all your mind and your thoughts
i’m asking myself what makes me christian?
grinding this real sh*t and faith in my religion
this worlds f*cked up so i’m praying for the children
i f*cking hate the system
swerve a b*tch she’ll run to plod and say that you’ve hit them
but there’s no evidence
coz she ain’t got intelligence
making up a bull sh*t story coz she wants the f*cking pen to be my f*cking residence
now my f*cking pens like the president
on a war path
with some raw raps
treat you like a door mat
so ain’t that f*cking evident
i’m a ridah
sick bar provider
og who remembers f*cking chilling playing driver
yea, hollow tips ripping through a stab proof
trying to get away had me falling through a glass roof
the 9 will make your body ache like a black tooth
real sh*t

i’m going back in
f*ck that, f*ck that yo

and you’ll never catch me slippin
open fire on his whip and leave him with his tires skidding
leave him with a leg missing
i’m a lumber jack
i’m looking at you like your something wack
and when i’m in the booth you know i’m busting tracks
it’s ross fyles tha don i’m better than i ever was
a faker that’s some bull sh*t that i never was
and you don’t want to test me coz i f*cking clap tings
pulling triggers like ya pulling f*cking hamstrings
this ain’t despurse i go murking on a bad ming
you heard what i said and you won’t do a d*mn thing

outro:

i always keep it real
wether it be on the block
wether it he in the m*th*ph*kkin pen
or wether it be in a casket
don sh*t 2020 b*tch

- ross fyles tha don lyrics

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