I'm riding round and I’m getting’ it; they riding round pretendin’ I been had it, I been done, I promise that it's all empty They say they ridin’ Bugatti's, man, put some babies through college Quit tryna’ act like the trap is cool, ‘cause we tired hearin’ that garbage Hey, bags of white, pints of lean, I been on dope boys since a teen But this ain't what we meant to be, and y'all don't make no sense to me You pump fakin’, ain't shootin’, ain't killin, ain't doin’ Half them thangs you say you doin’, but 116 we stay true an’ Ain't dope dealin’, ain't Po pimpin’, talkin’ ‘bout my own folk killin’ We on that Jesus soul healin’, so serious, gorillas Wild ain’t we, can't tame us, been changed, can’t change us 1:16 – You can’t shame us. Live that truth; you can't blame us
[Chorus] I heard him say he bought the block (Fakin!) In his song he say he gansta’ but he not (Fakin!) Say he makin’ money, cashin’ big checks (Fakin!) While his chain leavin’ green on his neck (Fakin!) I’m not impressed
So I guess that make you, yes that make you That make you a faker!
He was all juiced up, thought he was Tupac ‘Til ‘dem boys caught him, hit him with them two shots Now, he in the station singin’ like he T-Pain The bullets made him lean, now I guess he’s 2 Chains He bought that big-league cannon, wrapped it ‘round a 300 Now matter how you put it, boy, that’s still a 300 Stop that fakin’ and the flatchin’ cut it off Frontin’ like your paper longer than the Power Ball He think he Scarface, guess he ain’t seen the movie Keep on fakin’ ‘til you face down in a Jacuzzi With some killas in you room with some real guns That don’t make noise and ain’t plastic but they real guns
Real recognize real; introduce ya’ self Careful with that cannon boy; you might just shoot ya’ self Somebody wake em’, tell em’ to stop fakin’ Before they end up lyin’ in the woods buck naked These killas fulla’ them demons, while you pretendin’ you Scarface You ain't really no ghetto boy, why you fakin’ that hard face? That just made him furious; somebody call Fishburne Tell these boys in the hood 40 cal hits burn And hell burns hotter, I turn to the Father I prayin’, “Lord forgive em’ ‘cause they lyin’ like Mufasa They got these eight’ graders with they eyes on a choppa I pray the Lord save ‘em ‘fo He drop ‘em and make ‘em stop it