Boy (feat. P-Lo)

If I ain't a real boy, what you call it? (call it, call it)

Yo (P-Lo, time to bring the bass back)

Yo, yo...

Ayy, yeah, wake, wake shit up, ayy

On my mama, I can't make shit up, ayy

If I ain't a real boy, what you call it?

I don't think you want no problems

Wake, wake shit up, ayy

On my mama, I can't make shit up, ayy

If I ain't a real boy, what you call it?

I don't think you want no problems

You see it... you see it, you see it (woo)

VS's in my grill, you peeped it, you peeped it (woo)

I'm a boy for real, I keep it, I keep it

On me stay heated, I'll knock the meat out yo' pita

Crack them gates up in Rita, or should I say jail?

JPay, CorrLinks, and Music by Mail

I started with nothin', ended up with a lot

All my life I been hustlin' and clutchin' choppas and Glocks

Man, I get it to pop, whenever I'm on the block

Never know who will score when you feed 'em the rock

Six in the mornin', dreads at my spot

Ball on the floor, team ready to drop

Run with scotch, I roll one up

Enough in my blunt to levitate like monks

Big boss status ain't made for runts

Exotics online that'll wake shit up

Ayy, yeah, wake, wake shit up, ayy

On my mama, I can't make shit up, ayy

If I ain't a real boy, what you call it?

I don't think you want no problems

Wake, wake shit up, ayy

On my mama, I can't make shit up, ayy

If I ain't a real boy, what you call it?

I don't think you want no problems

I'm authentic

Got a Bela and a heater when I'm off in it

When I meet her I'ma need about a soft minute

We could chop it over lunch, maybe talk spinach

Got a product we can rock and we walk with it

Get a bag, run it up then we run it back

Get a pack to the yak, watch how they act

It's a wrap when it's wrapped and it's all intact

If I ain't a real boy, what you call that?

Havin' at it, gettin' to it

I'm on this juice, same color as transmission fluid

Two units on my collarbone

But the, screen cracked on my iPhone

And uh, these niggas dealin' with their hormones

They actin' like bitches, they need some tampons

I'm havin' my riches, I'm sittin' on a few tickets

And I'll lay a nigga out like a nap-kon, BIATCH!

Ayy, yeah, wake, wake shit up, ayy

On my mama, I can't make shit up, ayy

If I ain't a real boy, what you call it?

I don't think you want no problems

Wake, wake shit up, ayy

On my mama, I can't make shit up, ayy

If I ain't a real boy, what you call it?

I don't think you want no problems

Everything Gucci in another week

Just put the stash in a seven-three

Me and little bruh, we don't even speak

Block me on the 'gram, I ain't even peep

All I ever had was a bunch of love

Pop anybody tryin' to fuck with cuz

It is what it is, was what it was

Truth really is, we don't give a fuck

Rose gold Rucci rims on my Chevy, the paint wet (wet)

Bought a studio with my SoundExchange check

(SoundExchange check)

I'm a movie ho, you can find me on the set (set)

Slappin' dominoes, shootin' dice, talkin' shit (biatch)

Excruciating throb in the trunk of the mob

Mama used to tell me to get me a job

I used to tell my mama "Don't you worry, sahob"

One day my pockets gon' be as fat as the blob

Ayy, yeah, wake, wake shit up, ayy

On my mama, I can't make shit up, ayy

If I ain't a real boy, what you call it?

I don't think you want no problems

Wake, wake shit up, ayy

On my mama, I can't make shit up, ayy

If I ain't a real boy, what you call it?

I don't think you want no problems