conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Write me a song called Real Deal with the following description: Rich The Kid gets some of his most notable QC members to jump on a hot cut where they brag about their street cred and money. Make sure the lyrics are different from the original song.
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: [Intro: Rich The Kid]
  You know niggas talking about this man
  I'm bout to fuck 100,000 right now
  Aye, dang, woah
  [Chorus: Rich The Kid]
  Fuck on your bitch and I leave
  Can't cuff her, I'ma mistreat her
  Trap phone got a beeper
  They was talkin' to the people
  Momma I'm movin' to Hollywood
  Pick a model in the hills
  Wrist froze, neck chill
  I got the hundreds, a real deal
  [Verse 1: Rich The Kid]
  Pick the model in the hills
  Percocet, pop a pill
  I got the hundreds, real deal
  The Rollie, the boogers is real chill
  Bitches bustin' out the gate
  You would take her on a date
  Cum on her face, make a mess
  More bullets for the tec
  Melrose with the O's
  Take a picture for some hoes
  Take a picture for some hoes
  I'm dabbin' around with a bankroll
  She'll fuck for Chanel
  You was talkin' to the 12
  I was playin' with a scale
  Baby ship it through the mail [Chorus: Rich The Kid]
  Fuck on your bitch and I leave
  Can't cuff her, I'ma mistreat her
  Trap phone got a beeper
  It was talkin' to the people
  Momma I'm movin' to Hollywood
  Pick a model in the hills
  Wrist froze, neck chill
  I got the hundreds, a real deal
  [Verse 2: Quavo]
  I was playin' with a scale
  Fuck nigga gon' tell
  Dab sharp like nails
  Two guns, sonic tails
  Free block gang kill
  Baby powder in the mail
  Finesse a nigga, I'm a player
  Then I move to the Himalayas
  Shell catches no shells
  Cookie gas in the L
  Fuckin' hoes on film
  In case the bitch wanna tell
  Try and lie and say I ate the bitch
  We done run her through the whole clique
  I don't really fuck with atheists
  Crosses on my neck, I'm bankin' it
  Beast mode, can't tame it
  Skippa got the chopper, aimin' it
  And we ain't shootin' at your legs
  And we ain't shootin' at the pancreas
  QC, the label dangerous
  I got a bitch, finna wrang a bitch
  Hold the squad down, anchor it
  And my money counter accurate [Chorus: Rich The Kid]
  Fuck on your bitch and I leave
  Can't cuff her, I'ma mistreat her
  Trap phone got a beeper
  It was talkin' to the people
  Momma I'm movin' to Hollywood
  Pick a model in the hills
  Wrist froze, neck chill
  I got the hundreds, a real deal
  [Verse 3: Famous Dex]
  I got the hundreds, a real deal
  All my diamonds on chill
  Real gold, ice grill
  I'm sipping lean, crack the seal
  Momma I'm movin' to Hollywood
  I was broke, now I'm good
  Three grams in my wood
  Yeah I got it out the mud
  I'm ridin' round in this foreign
  All these bitches yeah they goin'
  All this money man comin'
  All these fuckin' blue hundreds
  And no I don't wear the Margielas
  And Yeezy's on, check the weather
  Two bitches flappin' like they feathers
  I'm ballin' hard like Mayweather, yeah [Chorus: Rich The Kid]
  Fuck on your bitch and I leave
  Can't cuff her, I'ma mistreat her
  Trap phone got a beeper
  It was talkin' to the people
  Momma I'm movin' to Hollywood
  Pick a model in the hills
  Wrist froze, neck chill
  I got the hundreds, a real deal
  [Verse 4: Offset]
  I won't take a bitch up on a date
  Suckin' dick and then we fornicate
  Like a dirty pistol, she a throw away
  I'm goin' through it so I pour away
  My wrist is cold like a blizzard
  I think that bitch is a ho but I miss her
  Got it out the mud to a Fisker
  Young nigga been grindin' hard for a minute
  I'm a savage and a menace
  I be thuggin', fuck an image
  I got action for you actin' niggas
  Man the trenches, diamond dancin' nigga
  You a lil bitch, lil nigga
  I'm a big young rich nigga
  I sip out the seal my nigga
  One Actavis bottle your bills my nigga
  I'm whippin' still, I cook up gefilte fish
  Don't trust no ho cause a bitch gon' be a bitch
  Don't trust no nigga cause it's cool to be a snitch
  That nigga was talkin too much so it's cool to hit him with clips
  [Chorus: Rich The Kid]
  Fuck on your bitch and I leave
  Can't cuff her, I'ma mistreat her
  Trap phone got a beeper
  It was talkin' to the people
  Momma I'm movin' to Hollywood
  Pick a model in the hills
  Wrist froze, neck chill
  I got the hundreds, a real deal