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Artist: Lounge Lo f/ J-Beastie
Album:  Simpstonian Institute
Song:   True Life
Typed by: Tha Masta

[Intro: J-Beastie]
Eh, E.S.G., keep emperors open in the space game
Yo Lounge, I see you, you know?
You know how we do, man, the most anticipated

[Chorus: J-Beastie]
True life and what reality is
Get money, stack chips and handle ya biz
Keep ya friends near, or what?  Ya enemies closer
We roll hard, like real g's is supposed to

[J-Beastie]
Yo, I done stepped up in the face with some dudes with a bad past
Ya punchline's weak and ya sixtens won't last
Hand cover itching, yeah boy, just to blast
Any one riffing or dissing, on my damn flag
I'ma fish in my position, got the tension that ya missing
Love beat, hunt the Earth for a vengeance
Feeling like, I've got this hate up in my body
They won't do me like Sammy did Gotti
Ain't got friends, I don't need nobody
Still run up on ya ass with that rusty shotty
Check my pose, g'd up, I'm feeling rowdy
Still hustle in the rain, and even when it's cloudy
You don't want to step to me, yeah, I got the recipe
Giving out techs like ya boy was a referee
Bang me on ya 8-track or ya M.P.
And start smoking till ya hand shake, clip go empty

[Chorus 2X]

[Lounge Lo]
Yo, I spit what I gotta spit, write what I gotta write
The Stones is home and this the shit that a rider like
Fuck a whip on a route, I'd rather ride a bike
And transport coke in the air, just through a flying kite
Ya boy is good but my team is nice
We got together like beans and rice
Jesus Christ, I need no love but I need my mics
So tell Bis, come with the disc at the speed of light

[J-Beastie]
Who you know do it better than me?
H-Town, A-Town, homey, you could bet a g on me
You could try to go and scheme on me
That's gon' leave you in a wheelchair and hooked to I.V.
And play the bad blocks while you dudes hustle lobbies
Hustle real good while you dudes moving sloppy
I'm the one to copy, neck all rocky
That's without a deal, homey, straight from Papi

[Chorus 2X]

[Lounge Lo]
Aiyo, I been there and done it, and I toured the States
Repped the Staten, my hood when I'm holding them gates
Park Hill, let me speaks for it
I know the Brims, the Stones, they all home and plus niggaz that'll reach for it
Load ya hammer up, cock off and blow away
This one's for Rondell Wilson for blowing Paul away
But hold ya head, homey
And ya ya niggaz are snitches and they straight dead, plus laying in the feds, homey
But I'ma rep the Stat, and I'ma set trap
Put my mind back in '89 then I set it back
And change the game up, this where I came up
I'm live from the 160, you stupid lame fucks
Word to grams, told me eat my food
And if the cops come to keep my cool
Beezy Mode, easy flow, I do my thing
I'm Park Hill, Staten Island till I die in the bing

[Chorus 2X]