[Verse 1: Justin Freeman]
I wake up every morning at 6
Go into the garage and then sit, recording a mix
See what kind of lyrical murder I wanna commit
'Cause I can't get on a instrumental without slaughtering it
You see I've gotta commit in order to get
To where I wanna be in rap, yes, one of the sick-est
Rappers you ever heard, you see the moral is this
No calling it quits, 'cause one shot is all that you get
Lately I've been caught in a fit, honest I'm pissed
Feels like I'm cornered and hit by a mortar with bricks
Unfortunate situations got me on the defense
Hand-me-down clothes that I have to get taller to fit
Tryna convince the bank that I need longer to fix
The debts that I owe, saving every quarter and cent
They say the verses that I form is nothing short of a gift
It's sort of my niche, there's nothing more important than this
Balling my fist, man it's such a horror to list-
En to my mom struggle every day, the older she gets
But God is my witness, no I'm not a born-again Christian
But if it's real, then I hope the Lord's in her mist
I love her to bits, I used to eat porridge and grits
That pains me, but that's why I can no longer resist
The urge to kill rappers, Columbine sorta depicts
Of what'll happen if you step into my tournament, pricks
Just warning you kids, my portrait's not a portrait of bliss
Pure anger and love shortage is the source of my spit
I wanna show my mom that life of fame and fortune exists
Without having to sell my soul to get results or a hit
I never was the average horse in the fence, I jumped it and went
From a cul-de-sac to doing corporate events
It's straight grinding, no chances of aborting the mission at all
I'm speaking to the ones stuck in the mix, because
Everybody wants to be someone to somebody
And no one wants to be all alone on a long road
And nobody wants to be known as a nobody
Especially where the place that you've grown up is so cold
And yeah they throw sticks and stones at your body
But you can make the dark times golden in your soul
And if I flaked on you for a show, man, I'm so sorry
But if I never reach for my goals, then I won't know
[Hook: Justin Freeman]
This is real talk
It takes a special type of heart to understand real talk, yeah
I treat the beat like my confession booth, this is where I spill thought, yeah
But it takes a special type of heart to understand real talk, yeah
It takes a special type of heart to understand

[Verse 2: Poodieville]
I'm only 22 and I'm filled with depression
Feeling like I could break any second
But if I did I know it'd break my momma's heart
To see me lying in the casket with wrists full of scars
So I put that bottle to my jaws, a smile on my face, and put faith in the Lord
My girl ask me why I'm sleeping so much, the only time I feel at peace
I ain't sleeping enough
Only problem with it, damn, think I'm dreaming too much
'Cause the more I dream, reality ain't pleasing me much, it's torture
I'm not a man who's impressed by cars and fortune
'Cause nice things are only nice when you can't afford them
I only care about the things that's really important
I'm talking family and real life shit
I need a good, loyal girl to spend my life with
That's something billionaires couldn't buy 'cause it's priceless
And that pain tends to fuck with my head
When I was piss-poor, thinking like I'm better off dead
I ain't no killer but don't push me, I ain't tryna go fed
But if a n***a touch my blood, it's going down like a sled
If you ain't global with it, n***a what you doing it for?
What you tryna do, win a local rapper award?
I'm bout that money, I should win a global stacker award
Bitch I'm the greatest, I'm just saying, who can rap with the boy?
I went to jail at 19, that's when I founded my dream
That's when I started spilling pain and all the shit I done seen
Did this shit up on my own and they can't tell me a thing
These n***as puppets who keep pulling the strings
I signed a deal at 22, who did that from the city?
I'm talking real bars, straight raps, none of them gimmicks
Ain't no pretending, just me, a rap beat, and a vision
Yeah, rapping in the car, shit I damn near invented
They say Poody, man, you should've made XXL
But fuck it, n***a, I go harder every time that I fail
Spilled my heart and poured my soul so you know that it's real
From the slums to the world, man, who fuck with the Ville?
[Hook: Poodieville]
This is real talk
It takes a special type of heart to understand real talk
I treat the beat like my confession booth, this is where I spill thought, eh hm
But it takes a special type of heart to understand real talk, eh hm
It takes a special type of heart to understand