Artist: Lil Donald Album: Live Evil (Mixtape) Song: Real Pain Typed by: AZ Lyrics I saw a lot of shit in the Air Force Signed some bad contracts, made some bad choices Put myself on child support to see my daughter Know that child support the reason I don't see my daughter 'Cause if I don't get the money then it's jail time Who the fuck I'ma call when it's bail time? Plug give me them bags, I'ma sell mine And bust that strap, Taco Bell time 'Cause the beef ain't shit to a meat eater These hoes might ride but they backseaters They said we was living in the Western world Why I'm only gettin' hated on by black people God damn, they're supposed to be my folk Why they hell they be kickin' in my door? Why the hell they wanna come and take my dough? You said you was real, what you lie for? Boy that pistol to your head make you change plans Kid made me change up the gameplan Probably would've shot you five years ago Now I be feelin' like a changed man These niggas wanna write on the internet That textin', that talkin', I ain't into that When I see all that shit you talk What if one had hit you, just remember that But some of these niggas ain't worth shots Shit get talked out 'fore the word out Before I ever dap another fuck nigga hatin' I'll go 'head start flickin' birds out These niggas got the mistake 'bout this You was shootin' the chopper everywhere and you hit 'em by mistake probably But I ain't gon' debate 'bout it I was hittin' four for the kids You gon' make me hit the folks for real You gon' make me go at nigga's grill 'cause you ain't never trapped for a mil Tell the nigga death don't scare me I ain't like these niggas, don't compare me If you gon' kill me then do it nigga Don't be tryna let nobody tell me I remember when the Juice record first hit All the DJ's was playin' my shit All the bad bitches was on my dick When shit got rough then everybody switched When my money got funny, now my baby mama mad Had to go start back juggin' on bags Had to go start back runnin' up a bag Just to get back to where I'm at Grandma died, nephew died, got to pour a four to go to sleep While I'm droppin' hit after hit but they don't notice me Pop them percs, pop them percs, pop them percs, don't OD Every time they see me out I already know they notice me It's a whole different ball game Back on that bullshit Young Nudy Boy Hit, hit, hit, hit