Songtext Shut up Mausberg

Shut up

Yo it's a lotta niggas bangin' the realest that ain't worth it
You bein' fakeYou're fuckin' with Mausberg the GreatThe king of the blockLickin' hot shots to keep the pesticides off my jock
Well if it's on then it's onI'm bustin' with the black and the chrome
Black tech gangsta, platinum crowns on my dome
You wanna rumble, chuck em around with the superb
Come up show, chain tokin' all your herbI'm'a (?) this nigga with (?) in the game
And this bullet goes out to niggas bitin' my name
Thought it was subliminal, but real doggs recognize them thangsThat's why your chronic bout to change the game
Certified bet, before my album even pop
And fuckin' with Quik, that's certified platinum when I drop
And I'm callin' out competitors, lettin' you know
If you fuck with the Berg I gun ya down fo sho CHORUS (x2) Shut up, niggaYou're fuckin' with my name 'stead of my gameFuckin' with my fame
Shut up nigga
And mind your own
Before you can't find your own Ey yo I keep a full metal jacket
The opposite of a bad habitMedicatin' niggas who start staticIt's on now, jet line suits and war boots
Marine green canteen (?) and lime juice
Mausberg the superior
You never heard of a more (?) nigga comin' out the urban area
Fake, fraud, and fictitious
Like som parsley in a Ziploc bag
I got the crown fool, it ain't for grabs
I run through the biggest packs of niggas
With my fists cocked back, and ready for combat
And hit ya, with six blows to ya craniumI'm the dime nigga
Fuck this rap hunch niggas, I'm gainin' emIt's the Y2K, but the glitch is in this bitch niggasDon't want to ride with they own kinda niggas
Me and Quik bout to take it to the limitErasin' all coward ass punks and gimmicks
We the realest for real Chorus 2x I'm still sportin' gray jeans with the black and white Polo'sWith the chucks cut lo do'sNiggas thought that I was goin' HollywoodAfter rhythmalism
But all that taught me was to keep it realism
Give a pound to my real thugs
Use a jimmy when I fuck a bitch
Stay away from unknown drugs
But unlike y'all, bitch made, don't know where you fromLyin' on your records about niggas you done
Fuck what happened to Cavaricci jeans and backpacks
Where you get them khakis and that dog patch
You ain't no gangsta
You only get in to fit in
Take yo ass to the circus with your family and friends
Cuz i'm too rough, too (?), too rugged for y'all kind
And I gotta keep them cowards from crossin' the red line
Pointe blank, niggas'll do whatcha do
But keep in mind when you come across the Berg you're through Chorus 3x