Текст Lil Donald – Real Pain

‘Cause if I don’t get the money then it’s jail time
Who the fuck I’ma call when it’s bail time?
Plug give me them bags, I’ma sell mine
And bust that strap, Taco Bell time
‘Cause the beef ain’t shit to a meat eater
These hoes might ride but they backseaters
They said we was living in the Western world
Why I’m only gettin’ hated on by black people
God damn, they’re supposed to be my folk
Why they hell they be kickin’ in my door?
Why the hell they wanna come and take my dough?
You said you was real, what you lie for?
Boy that pistol to your head make you change plans
Kid made me change up the gameplan
Probably would’ve shot you five years ago
Now I be feelin’ like a changed man
These niggas wanna write on the internet
That textin’, that talkin’, I ain’t into that
When I see all that shit you talk
What if one had hit you, just remember that
But some of these niggas ain’t worth shots
Shit get talked out ‘fore the word out
Before I ever dap another fuck nigga hatin’
I’ll go ‘head start flickin’ birds out
These niggas got the mistake ’bout this
You was shootin’ the chopper everywhere and you hit ’em by mistake probably

But I ain’t gon’ debate ’bout it
I was hittin’ four for the kids
You gon’ make me hit the folks for real
You gon’ make me go at nigga’s grill
’cause you ain’t never trapped for a mil
Tell the nigga death don’t scare me
I ain’t like these niggas, don’t compare me
If you gon’ kill me then do it nigga
Don’t be tryna let nobody tell me
I remember when the Juice record first hit
All the DJ’s was playin’ my shit
All the bad bitches was on my dick
When shit got rough then everybody switched
When my money got funny, now my baby mama mad
Had to go start back juggin’ on bags
Had to go start back runnin’ up a bag
Just to get back to where I’m at
Grandma died, nephew died, got to pour a four to go to sleep
While I’m droppin’ hit after hit but they don’t notice me
Pop them percs, pop them percs, pop them percs, don’t OD
Every time they see me out I already know they notice me

It’s a whole different ball game
Back on that bullshit
Young Nudy Boy
Hit, hit, hit, hit