Truth Or Truth, Pt. 1

[Intro: Royce Da 5'9"]

Yeah

Yeah

Nickel

Turn the beat up a bit [?]

Yeah

Yeah

[Verse 1: Royce Da 5'9"]

I'm stressed out so much I'm like, "Why stress it?"

Am I selfish for asking myself, "Would

You rather count money or count blessings?"

Now that's a wild question

Fame turned my life upside down, I guess it was meant to be

Like passing Beyoncé a Tic-Tac, and that ain't a diss

This way more to me than a diss track

Jay-Z is God to me

Nas is God to me

Eminem is like B.I.G. and Pac to me

And if you disagree I hope you bleed hypocrisy

And this'll be the realest shit I ever wrote

Shoutout to all the crazy bitches

I've been involved with

Thank y'all for making my wife a crazier bitch than y'all bitches

Y'all might've lost me, but y'all win

And this'll be the realest shit I ever wrote

Now let's talk about the BET Awards

When Kanye went to the podium for the win

And mentioned everyone in the same category as him but me and Em

He said they motivated him and normally that would be ammo to hate on him

But that ain't my M.O!

My M.O. is to be mo' motivatin'

This new-wave culture is so cultivatin'

Where the fuck do I fit in?

And this'll be the realest shit I ever wrote

I've succumb so much to this game I feel sorrow

I answer more questions about the 40 and Game squabble

Than I answer questions that I ask myself

"Are you a good father?"

The answer's, "Well... fuck this

Royce got a game tomorrow"

I ain't gotta spell out the offers

If being famous means speaking to people in offices

Over being there for your sons and daughters...

I'm off this...

I know the last couple of lines kinda fell out of the pocket

But I don't give a fuck! Let me tell you this:

When was the last time you copped some shit

Where it actually came out of your pocket?

Answer that! If I got to answer questions from you

You got to answer questions from me!

I'm fucking my whole life up for you, answer this question:

"What the fuck are you doing for me?", answer that!

Still I love my fans, even though y'all looking at me like I'm just a drunk nigga

That's just throwing up behind shit, blowing up, but nigga I ain't throwing up shit but my hands

And this is just me growing up

Courtney Artesia, Kino and Vish, please support me I need ya

But in reality an artist is supposed to be supported by easels

But in the meanwhile, I'm just supported by evil

[Verse 2: Joe Budden]

I'm no longer fuckin' amused

I mean I addressed this shit on "Cut You Loose"

How long am I supposed to stick around for this fuckin' abuse?

Every time I go to leave, I figure "fuck is the use?"

I endure it for the true fans that covet that new

Or is that just another fuckin' excuse?

Do I do it for attention cause I crave it, I won't mention it, I'll save it

If you know me than you know a nigga treasure anonymity

Nigga thought that as a man, you must be kiddin' me

And I'm starting to feel like my fans are now condemning me

Listen, I don't owe y'all shit

Same Joe I am today is the same Joe y'all get

Y'all will interrupt a nigga while he at his place of worship

And think that came along with your 20 dollar purchase

You bought the music, not the nigga that made it

But let me touch up on that nigga that made it

If you're judging me on actions then I'll take that L every time

If you conclude "Joe Budden is a corny mah'fucker"

Cause all it mean if I'm a corny mah'fucker

Is the greatest rapper ever's just a corny mah'fucker

My bad, I'm not as street as you

But all this time I was being me, not being you

I get behind that mic, let all my demons through

Without knowing shit about the people that I'm speaking to

Add that to me not seeing a reason to

And that says a lot in a room full of silence, listen...

At 21 I had a drug problem

At 31 still drugs is a problem

But the thing about that pill is it made everything real

And I felt I needed to see

Funny thing about it all, I ain't like what I saw

Now the Lord's voice is in my head like

"You'll be DEAD soon for questioning me"

Another lesson for me

Far greater than whatever I profess it to be

Cause if left to me, I'd put our eyes in our brains

We'd over-think what we see and our whole lives would change

But fuck it, that day had to come

Who ever knew that I would have a son?

I coulda guessed it, I was fuckin' like a rabbit

But I never saw him handle scoliosis like his dad did

Never knew me and Ronnie would talk again

Fuck a rhyme, I'm just happy that we talk again

Who knew that the second I acknowledged you

You would get terminally ill, be in the hospital

The thought of you leaving is what fucks with me

I'm scared to death of getting full custody

Nigga, I look in the mirror disgustedly

So how am I supposed to feel the day that he looks up to me?

I always said you were the worst baby-mother

I had ex-girl confused with baby-mother

And there lies my problem with our Creator

All the times I wanted her black ass dead, you wouldn't take her

Don't do it now, I need her

Understand, it don't get no realer

See how I go to bed with thoughts of a damn killer

But rather show y'all my girl through these Instagram filters

Look at her, don't look at me

Cause if y'all judging, y'all would throw the book at me

Speakin' of shorty, nah, I'll do that in private

It might be a little soon for me to let her know how I get

Shit, and now we right back at one

Real quick, let me get back to my son

When a nigga was like…

He said "Dad, I'm weird… but I don't have a problem with that"

And I was like… I laughed, and I was like

"Well, number 1, why do you think you're weird

And number 2, why don't you have a problem with that?"

And he looked me in my eyes and he was like…

"Well, I say I'm weird, number 1, because I know I'm weird

And I don't have a problem with it because that's me

And whoever don't like it, they don't have to be around me

I'm comfortable with me and who I am"

And right there, that was cold

In my head I thought "That was bold"

Illest shit about it all, said that at 10 years-old

So I could die right now…

I could die right now and feel like he got the most important part of Joe

Or... better than that...

I could die right now and feel like he know all he need to know

Joey

Royce, what up

Last night we cried tears of joy

This morning they were still there

What's handicap without the wheelchair

That's what we are, but fuck it...

We'll be the sacrificial lamb for y'all niggas

Hate it or love it...

Leave all of that, b, fuck it...

[Verse 3: Crooked I]

Yeah, man

I kinda feel where my nigga was coming from, you know

Both my niggas, you know

Baby-mom was on WorldStar and shit

You know, talkin' 'bout I don't take care of my junior

Me and my nigga straight though

Yo, my little nigga rap

I just let it be, you know, cause people get their feelings hurt over other shit

So I just let it go, you know, I ain't have no rebuttal

But uh… when you grew up fucked up

Nobody's perfect, you know, but I'm perfect for this

This rap shit, man… yeah

Eastside Long Beach: Atlantic avenue and Hill

Crooked was a youngster my ghetto attitude was real

Thumper in the waist in case I had to shoot to kill

Rocking dumb mics cause all I had was stupid skill

Eastsiders we cypher by the bus bench

Some sippin’ toca vodka, others had the blunt pitched

A lot of them niggas died, sweatshirt blood drenched

Others went to jail, they hit a lick and left thumbprints

Long beach I salute ya grind

Even though you think you I sold out you not saluting mine

I don’t come around much, I’m on music’s time

Lost and found I found when I’m broke I lose my mind

So I hustle like I’m on a hunger strike

Without a doubt when I cuff a mic

I leave a body count like the shotty’s out

Cause I’m from a group called slaughter

Rap better than everybody house

Now they think I’m in the game and stuntin’

But I’m like an orgasm man, I came from nothing

Some of you from the burbs but you claim you wasn’t

So lame you struttin’, with a cain you frontin’

Fuck all that, if I was born rich I would rhyme about it

I was born poor in a ditch, I’m rhyming tryna climb up out it

Tryna avoid a life of crime I’m ’bout it

Some say I’ll be fine without it

But I kinda doubt it

Death around the corner, prison breathing down my neck

Chasing paper til a nigga wheezing out of breath

IRS wanna fuck me, I ain't even outta debt

Said they Young Buck me, tryna squeeze me outta checks

Yeah, them fools tryna squeeze me outta checks

Don’t talk to Dominick unless you pay ya mommas rent

With marijuana sent outta town, them dollars spent

My own fam wanna grab the steel and harm me

But I got the nuts to kill an army

Word to Killa army, man all them killers adore me

BET red carpet, the steel was on me

To put a slug in my flesh and blood wouldn’t feel good

Serena crip walking at the Olympics I’m still hood

Still me, til my candle is blown

So many secrets I only told to a glass of patron

Half of my fathers family died of cancer alone

He called me sick, I didn’t answer the phone

How does it feel to know that your son doesn’t care

Cause you wasn’t there, life wasn’t fair

I look at steps in the wrong direction, another stare

Yeah muthafucka yeah

I swear, just the other muthafucking night dawg

Like niggas, niggas rolled in front of my studio on my kids life

Nah’mean, I ran through the fucking studio to my office grabbed that 3.57 thang man

Came out waving, I’m bout to bust, the police pass by

My little brothers told me I needed to chill

Nah’mean, this is what I do man, this is the life I live for real dawg

This ain't no muthafuckin’ rap music

Just the other night I coulda killed a nigga man

Nah’mean, I wouldn’t be here rapping about this shit

Think about it man

[Verse 4: Joell Ortiz]

My grandmom’s left me, father don’t exist

Baby moms stress me, my momma got a cyst

My older son love football and the little nigga hands is mean

But he chronic asthmatic so he fully suited on the sideline wishing he could be in there but still cheering for his team

My youngest son got nerve issues, sometimes he cry to me

I’m looking at him like it’s not you fault

You was conceived when daddy was such a slave to his everyday anxiety

I worked at UPS for a week and my boss ain't have to fire me

I wasn’t fit to lift boxes I quit

Don’t put me in that box when I spit

My life wasn’t too muthafucking fly for me

Wasn’t too muthafucking fly for me

From the lobby huffing and puffing running from robbery

To Crooked I, Royce Da 5’9″, Joe Budden, homie from the Goodie Mob and me carving artistry

Celebrating escaping poverty

Ashy knees and no socks

Chinese outta hocks but that was on the first, other than that

Liver works and government sent me my yellow cheese in a box

Ya’ll ain't have that yellow cheese in a box

Last night I cried tears of joy

But the other night I cried tears my boy

No longer here I can’t hear his voice

I guess upstairs they playing dealers choice

Popped a pill with Joe I’m sippin’ clear with Royce

Crook light a cigar nigga

My little homie just hit the pen

Went in a young adult and coming out a senior citizen

And them crackers just denied me

Fuck dawg I can’t even sneak a visit in

I ain't hustlin’ no more if y’all listening

Ya’ll niggas only get the music man

Ya’ll don't know what be going on with a nigga day to day

I mean shit I ain't complaining or nothing

Like a nigga stand on his own two and hold it down

But it’s realer than you think nigga

You think I give a fuck about a rap list

I just left my condo, hopped up in my car I’m on my way to fuck an actress

I don’t need y’all to remind me bout my pen and pad gift

And how my ad-libs subtract your wack spit

Multiply my visits to Chase divide mad chips among 3 other niggas

Who spazz quick

Nah nigga this ain't no rap clique

This is a muthafucking takeover

I want another Range Rover

I got such a hangover celebrating the fact my mother became sober

My uncle fading from that needle though

Found out he fully blown a couple weeks ago

My aunt tested negative but it’s the same result

Cuz she gon die on the same day he stop breathing yo

To know me ain't to love me

Nah, to know me is to know me

Cause you ain't got to like me but respect that I ain't phony

Not a nominee for Tony’s or Oscars for my uh bologna

What you see is what you get

Hope you getting what you see cause what you seeing is a threat

Come at me with indirect’s, I ain't gon write a song about you

I’mma knee you in your neck

And then write a song about how I just beat you half to death

Don’t play with my little niggas

I’m just a grown ass man tryna feed my family through the talent God gave me

Honestly I don’t care if you hate me

But don’t fuck with my money

Anything else I say will be dry snitching on myself, how dumb would that be

House gang

YAOWA!!!