[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 nigga touch my blood, it's going down like a sled

If you ain't global with it, nigga 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 niggas 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, nigga, 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