E-40, B-Legit, P-LO - Boy lyrics

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 ityou 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 rockSix 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 unit's 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