Στοίχοι: Young Bleed. My Balls And My Word. Keep It Real.

(feat. C-Loc, Master P)

[Master P talking]

Yeah, huh, my boy Young Bleed in here, C-Loc in here, an you know the
colonel MP up in here

[Chorus: Young Bleed]

Nigga we gonna keep it real dawg, hustiln high, cuz live niggas keep it
real young, can we keep it real Loc? Tryin not to spill no blood, if
it's real show a nigga love, nigga.

[Verse 1: Young Bleed]

Nigga it burns for gold that rose before me that was fakin' the funk,
long an behold I come to get it, so I'm takin' it in chunks, out to
lunch for brunch, maggots gonna munch in perpendicular, order money, man
slaughter, I write this shit thats good for you, how many mutha fuckas
must get dealt wit? Before someone kick down yo door, an leave you
helpless, is you feelin' my fear, feelin' my vibe, at the same time, I
dirty my theroy, clickin my tribe, tryin' ta claim mine, hush,
what you discovered don't shake the rictor, my nigga, my nerve, go get
the camera, get the picture, I'm laughin' at y'all for tryin' to ball,
wit yo mug on me, movin' a million mutha fuckas strappin murder machine,
I come dainty an benidine, so gimme mine, sippin great wine, polishin
pussy thats genuine, paralized to the format still smokin' blunts for
days, an mama's theroies an ways, got me prepared ha, niggas ain't
ready, but if it wasn't for the grace of God, they say you couldn't live
life against all odds, I know it's hard, but it's real though, I'm 'bout
ta peel out, everytime I touch somethin', what ya feel yo, nigga, give a
fuck if you bigga.

[Chorus]

[Verse 2: C-Loc]

It be a piper push poundses, wit playas who wanna rise, pick the pen
then ??? my rhyme, eh, so now I can make a leagal paper in this rap
game, at the first used to hear that boy playin' wit steel toys, now I'm
worse, can't break the curse, y'all laugh until I die, comin' from the
dirt, so watch a young hustler rise an shine, like the ghetto
mastermind, (bout it bout it) let em know, why do, doin' all that lyin'
got the nation down to ???, young mutha fucka ain't do shit, can't stand
the heat get out the kitchen, before trigga fingas get to itchin', getty
up, get into position to have twitchin', thinkin', damn, how could I
have mention, stop trippin', keep it real nigga.

[Chorus x2]

[Verse 3: Master P]

Ughh! I live my life of a youngsta wit money, to many, bitches
pandhandlers, beggas an dummies, tryin ta, steal my soul, I mean suck me
dry, for these 20 inch rims on my ghetto ride, I couldn't lose my life
tryin' to keep my shoes, sell my soul to the devil, in the ghetto you
lose, an ain't no, nigga gonna make it, fakin' the game, too many blacks
behind bars for fortune and fame, I live, my life, readin' jail house
letters, I'm workin', money orders sendin weed through sweaters, I seen
mama's turn off of hustlas and killas, my last supper probably gonna be
wit fiends an dealers. Ughhhh!

[Chorus x3]

[Master P talking during chorus]

C-Loc records, keep it real, for all the records, keep it real Loc the
whole south, to the east, to the west, to the middle, huh, we gonna keep
it real though, keep it real Loc.