F.a.m.e gotti - Really in these streets

I'm Really In These Streets
Really bout that beef
On me
Hustling, didn't have no where to sleep
I finessed OZs, QPs
Boy you know you not really
In these streets
If I catch ya slippin, homicide gone have to find ya
Really got big heat
Don't let me catch ya slippin wit that lil ass revolver

I remember I was juggin the city
Give a nigga counterfeit in a minute
Straight finnesin, turned that shit to a business...
They was hating, but you know that come with it
Plottin, thinkin I was tryna get rich
Me and my nigga scoota from them bricks
We set up shop, didn't have shit to pay rent
Next thing I noticed, letter say evict
Didn't have a choice had to hit us a stain
Lick on some gas, split it wit it da gang
Pussy boy say when he see me I'm dead
Ar-15 wit me now, it go bang
So many enemies I'm screamin Fuck em
All of my niggas wit me got a hustle
Fuck around flexed to much, I ripped a muscle
Fuck around snatched ya bitch, I ain't gone cuff ha
You can't be with me you ain't Neva struggled
You can't trap with me, neva had a case
Tryna stack 100 racks in a duffle
Hustling backwards, you just in the way
Think about what you said when u was cappin
Come to my city on that, it ain't safe
Ran outta dope, now you a rapper...
Let me find out, gone be on channel 8


I'm Really In These Streets
Really bout that beef
On me
Hustling, didn't have no where to sleep
I finessed OZs, QPs
Boy you know you not really
In these streets
If I catch ya slippin, homicide gone have to find ya
Really got big heat
Don't let me catch ya slippin wit that lil ass revolver

I'm from the slums nigga dassa fact
Growin up all my bruddas had a pack
Growin up in these streets, you had to trap
Either you hustled or you tried to rap
Other youngins
They was playing sports
Tried to be Kobe Bryant, Reggie Bush
Only dream I Eva had was simple
Try to make this money flip off da kush
Try to make this money flip off da gas
I done ran thru so many scales and bags
I done ran thru so many fucking strags
Ain't even funny, glad I wore the mags
I done got paranoid since my release
So many snakes in the fucking grass
Sware it's so high can't even keep it cut
Fuck around kill em, throw em in da trash
R.I.p Tae
Sware I miss you brudda
R.I.p Vell
Died in my hands
Sware I'm so heartless, I can't even love her
Ain't got a choice, gotta run up them bands
Yea they be hatin
I'm screaming Fuck em
You wasn't wit me homeless in the rain
They be so fake, wonder why they struggling...
Don't even ask, you can not be with FAME

I'm Really In These Streets
Really bout that beef
On me
Hustling, didn't have no where to sleep
I finessed OZs, QPs
Boy you know you not really
In these streets
If I catch ya slippin, homicide gone have to find ya
Really got big heat
Don't let me catch ya slippin wit that lil ass revolver

Writers: F.A.M.E Gotti

Lyrics © DistroKid

Lyrics licensed by LyricFind