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ot the real - otr freestyle lyrics

[verse]
brodie said if rap don’t work, its back to robbing people’s houses
we gon’ take all they change, we gon’ be the bosses
the world gone mad, all i see is losses
and you’ll take one from me for that key of rawfish
ups and downs, had to bear through it
buckle down, find a small town, time to tear through it
stop crying making fair music
if i put that chicken dinner up, they’ll do it
they say i’m too hard, i gotta dumb the flow
but everything in life i ever got was from an o
or from a [?]
or bundled dope
or a home invasion, when i was f+cking broke
i came to philly on the run
i ride through your neighborhood, my hand bе really on my gun
i gotta make it out to raise my daughtеr and my sons
its hard to tell my smoker no, when he got three 1’s
i need it all, pride always be the fall
i went from eating bad to eating good, to couldn’t eat at all
i was too caught up serving pete and paul
and watch ’em rob eachother
and try to block eachother
woulda been better off going half on a block together
coulda seen the top together
once its on, its on forever, agh
and it does not get better
glocks, berettas
coke come b+tter soft like moroccan leather
this the cycle that we trapped inside
still trapping like, i’m just tryna get this rap sh+t right
still grabbing like, mines better and i match the price
homie, put you to the flames slowly like a sacrifice
mama, don’t blame yourself, i guess i always stayed myself
when i was young, i robbed some good dude, i kinda played myself
but when you know n0bodies coming, you don’t scream for help
eating well
they rather see me in that 3 man cell
systems got flaws in it, kids got saws with ’em
your mans in the icu lookin like jaws bit him
always on the run, kept raw with him
juking bounty hunters like they shoulda had dog with ’em
troopers had dogs with ’em
shooters got vlogs with ’em
roofers charge, law hit ’em
you dont play ball with ’em
im where they duck the shots
junkies, cops
arms and legs look like they got the monkeypox
look, life ain’t a fairtytale
he’ll pay 2 racks for an ounce, that’s a scary sale
there’s fish all on my digi, i got a scaly scale
a little meth too, i could probably bless you
you surrounded by some yes men
i’m surrounded by trappers who take 30’s and press them
yeah, take 30’s and press them
looking at this drugs and this money, like whose my best friend?
d+mn, cause i got pain i never speak on
really went on recon missions over that [?]
feet was stinking from all the nights i slept with my sneaks on
crack in the pot, opps in the graveyard
still screaming rip weezy and free ar
they front like they ain’t f+cking with my sh+t, but they are
still serve them grey pieces out the grey car
they say you work hard, you get to play hard
you sell that work hard, you sell yourself up to a state yard
d+mn, i guess i’m finally on the radar

- ot the real lyrics

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