Testo Shut Up

Yo it's a lotta niggas bangin' the realest that ain't worth it You bein' fake You're fuckin' with Mausberg the Great The king of the block Lickin' hot shots to keep the pesticides off my jock Well if it's on then it's on I'm bustin' with the black and the chrome Black tech gangsta, platinum crowns on my dome You wanna rumble, chuck em around with the superb Come up show, chain tokin' all your herb I'm'a (?) this nigga with (?) in the game And this bullet goes out to niggas bitin' my name Thought it was subliminal, but real doggs recognize them thangs That's why your chronic bout to change the game Certified bet, before my album even pop And fuckin' with Quik, that's certified platinum when I drop And I'm callin' out competitors, lettin' you know If you fuck with the Berg I gun ya down fo sho CHORUS (x2) Shut up, nigga You're fuckin' with my name 'stead of my game Fuckin' with my fame Shut up nigga And mind your own Before you can't find your own Ey yo I keep a full metal jacket The opposite of a bad habit Medicatin' niggas who start static It's on now, jet line suits and war boots Marine green canteen (?) and lime juice Mausberg the superior You never heard of a more (?) nigga comin' out the urban area Fake, fraud, and fictitious Like som parsley in a Ziploc bag I got the crown fool, it ain't for grabs I run through the biggest packs of niggas With my fists cocked back, and ready for combat And hit ya, with six blows to ya cranium I'm the dime nigga Fuck this rap hunch niggas, I'm gainin' em It's the Y2K, but the glitch is in this bitch niggas Don't want to ride with they own kinda niggas Me and Quik bout to take it to the limit Erasin' all coward ass punks and gimmicks We the realest for real Chorus 2x I'm still sportin' gray jeans with the black and white Polo's With the chucks cut lo do's Niggas thought that I was goin' Hollywood After rhythmalism But all that taught me was to keep it realism Give a pound to my real thugs Use a jimmy when I fuck a bitch Stay away from unknown drugs But unlike y'all, bitch made, don't know where you from Lyin' on your records about niggas you done Fuck what happened to Cavaricci jeans and backpacks Where you get them khakis and that dog patch You ain't no gangsta You only get in to fit in Take yo ass to the circus with your family and friends Cuz i'm too rough, too (?), too rugged for y'all kind And I gotta keep them cowards from crossin' the red line Pointe blank, niggas'll do whatcha do But keep in mind when you come across the Berg you're through Chorus 3x