Hahaha, right
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah
I hear ’em talkin’ ’bout this
Can’t fight the feeling
Hahaha, haha
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Leggo, look, haha
Can’t fight the feeling
Do you think I give a **** what you think about me?
I got my chin up, brother walkin’ properly
Almost off them papers so no coppers bother me
Fuck walkin’ on eggshells, Father, help me please
I’m duckin’ slugs, I’m in higher water so they leech
You got the game effed up, but it’s all G
I choose it ’cause this music’s therapeutic to my brain cells
And when I’m stupid, yeah, I lose it, I don’t think well
Yeah, and for this moolah, I’m a Road Runner
You can’t stop the party, boy, you won’t fuck my fun up
Might just have to call them boys, then they gonna run up
Pretty little facelift, yeah, you gettin’ done up
I light a candle for the homies that’s history
You light a candle just to save electricity
Let me calm down, I don’t wanna get tazed
I just bought this outfit and these shades
I’m ballin’ hard, nigga, hit that replay
And all my haters die slow and decay
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Haha, look, haha, leggo
Can’t fight the feeling
Give me four quarters and a few Vitamin Waters
I guess to win in this game I just gotta fuck reporters
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
A nigga somersault, naw, it’s not what the doctor ordered
Red shots is on your forehead
Can’t fight the feeling
Block up, they recordin’
Now I’m on the West Coast ridin’ in that low-low
With a couple killers who be hidin’ from the popo
Know they got the best smoke, feel like you in slow-mo
But I don’t smoke that shit so no, that weren’t no promo
V.A. yeah, we hard, bitch
‘Cause everywhere I go, I feel like I’m a target
I’m a star, you just start shit
Superhero switchin’ fists like I’m Clark Kent
Yeah
Superman that ho
Check, look
See the waitress makin’ double, I guess you can say I’m tipsy
I’m all about my hustle like my first name Nipsey
Breezy brought me on, so I be wherever Chris be
I’m the next to blow, believe it or not, Ripley’s
Biggest thing in L.A., how can you miss me?
Tell the bank teller keep them hundreds extra crispy
Cash rules everythin’ around me
I see your mouth movin’ but you ain’t really sayin’ shit like the lip-sync
A lot of chicks on my teams so they call me coach
My dick game got them buggin’, call it cockroach
How you fly as me? I don’t fly coach
Nigga, I’m sick so when I spit it’s fuckin’ gross
That’s dope, huh, nigga, that’s dope
Iced in the bitch but I ain’t never seen the slopes
Californication, I’m reppin’ the West Coast
East Side, young niggers, my cousins are straight Locs
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Haha
Can’t fight the feeling
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Can’t fight the feeling
Breaking Down ‘Real Hip Hop #4’
‘Real Hip Hop #4’ by Chris Brown delivers a raw and unapologetic look into the artist’s mindset and street experiences. The lyrics reflect a sense of resilience and defiance, as Brown addresses critics and adversaries with confidence and swagger. Lines like “Do you think I give a **** what you think about me?” set the tone for a track that is both introspective and combative, highlighting the pressures of fame and the challenges of staying true to oneself.
Personal Triumphs and Street Wisdom
The verses blend personal anecdotes with broader commentary on hustle and survival. Brown references his journey, struggles with law enforcement, and the importance of music as therapy. The song also touches on themes of loyalty, ambition, and the realities of urban life, all delivered with clever wordplay and cultural references that keep listeners engaged from start to finish.
Song Credits
- Artist: Chris Brown
- Songwriters: Not specified
- Release Year: Not specified
- Label: Not specified