Shut Up

Yo it's a lotta niggas banging the realest that ain't worth it
You being fake
You're fucking with Mausberg the Great
The king of the block
Licking hot shots to keep the pesticides off my jock
Well if it's on then it's on
I'm busting 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 toking all your herb
I'm'a [?] this nigga with [?] in the game
And this bullet goes out to niggas biting my name
Thought it was subliminal, but real doggs recognize them thangs
That's why your chronic bout to change the game
Certified bet, before my album even pop
And fucking with Quik, that's certified platinum when I drop
And I'm calling out competitors, letting you know
If you fuck with the Berg I gun ya down fo sho

[CHORUS x2]
Shut up, nigga
You're fucking with my name 'stead of my game
Fucking 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 habit
Medicating niggas who start static
It'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 coming 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 cranium
I'm the dime nigga
Fuck this rap hunch niggas, I'm gaining em
It's the Y2K, but the glitch is in this bitch niggas
Don't want to ride with they own kinda niggas
Me and Quik bout to take it to the limit
Erasing all coward ass punks and gimmicks
We the realest for real

[Chorus x2]

I'm still sporting gray jeans with the black and white Polo's
With the chucks cut lo do's
Niggas thought that I was going Hollywood
After 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 from
Lying 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 crossing the red line
Pointe blank, niggas'll do whatcha do
But keep in mind when you come across the Berg you're through

[Chorus x3]