Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Last Real Nigga Left, artist - Joe Budden. Album song Mood Muzik Vol. 3.5, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 16.09.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Amalgam, Stage One
Song language: English
Last Real Nigga Left |
Look- |
Everybody wanna talk about who’s the nicest |
A bunch of grown ass men in a midlife crisis (ughhh!) |
I don’t really see what all the hype is |
You got some 'G-Money' ridin' around in them Chryslers? |
Guess they still sleeping, bad case of the itis |
Be Siegfried then Roy fuck around with them tigers |
Listen… |
I don’t think its no real niggas left (ah huh) |
I feeling like its no real niggas left (ohhhh; nahhh) |
Or maybe all the real niggas just left- or |
Or maybe I’m the last real nigga left |
See I don’t understand why nigga’s act this hard |
Some niggas is «BALLLLIN» with the practice squad |
They don’t holla at’cha mans |
'Cause nigga hit and run like Carmelo, I’m assumin' they in La-La Land |
I’m talking BLOCKA, man! |
10 deep in that DollaVan |
And won’t leave until you Aqua, man |
I done seen it all, done it all- what they gon' tell dude? |
Once you try to marry the game, they Sean Bell you |
Rather you in Bellview, cops wanna derail dude |
Like Jenny Aniston up in that hotel room (ohhh) |
One man chain gang, bitches wanna know what’s his AIM name |
Niggas wanna see about his aim game (talk to 'em) |
All this yappin' about holdin' M’s |
Get ya weight up, you lookin' like the Olsen twins |
A bunch of vague ass niggas, I’m WAY past niggas |
Treat me like a Prince, Morris Day ass niggas |
Hundred miles and runnin', duckin' a court summons |
Albums? |
Just one in!; |
Livin' like Mr. Drummond |
Nigga’s gon' learn about puttin' me in they speech |
When every dead president they own’ll be impeached |
(Even) J.C. murder rate’ll be increased |
Throw a nice suit on 'em, and let 'em be in peace, geez! |
I don’t it’s no real nigga’s left (nahhh) |
I’m feeling like it’s no real nigga left (ah huh) |
Or maybe all the real nigga’s just left- (ok) |
Or maybe I’m the last real nigga left |
He wanna pop shit, about how he cock it- its gossip; |
stop it! |
Ain’t nothing about you that says «Brolic» (nahhh) |
I hear ya lil freestyles talkin' about you buy tools (dawg!) |
You just a lil nigga, known you since high school |
I made niggas, aside from that I’m a made nigga |
Sent you to the store for me, you was like my maid nigga |
You outta ya league, you fuckin' wit a Don |
These Urkel ass niggas is turnin' into Stephon |
How hungry, B? |
You scrub money to me |
You livin' wit' moms, you more like Bud Bundy to me |
Might clap 'em up, revolve 'em |
You like my Lil Scrappy, and you don’t want No Problem |
He broke, you can’t rob him |
It’s Joe, you can’t stop him! |
(nope) |
Not unless the feds grab me- |
You want 60 Minutes? |
Treat 'em like Ed Bradley |
And his squad know, I’m ridin' on horses |
Yours is like Barbaro, how you want a part of Joe? |
Can’t get in this game, maybe at half-time |
You not a livewire more like a flat line |
You livin' in a mean world |
Bitch niggas sit around hopin' for a deal, I’m callin' 'em all «Dreamgirls» |
Clap Joe? |
Never the day |
And before you put my name in your mouth, have something better to say! |
I mean… |
I don’t it’s no real nigga’s left (nahhh) |
I’m feeling like it’s no real nigga left (ok) |
Or maybe all the real nigga’s just left- or |
Or maybe I’m the last real nigga left |
Look, you muh’fuckas makin' me laugh, at least chuckle |
Weight of the world on 'em, knees won’t even buckle |
And dudes think they causin' an uproar- fuck Y’ALL! |
And this impotent disses, ain’t even gotta get up for |
If I wanted you dead, I’d hire a nigga |
Ain’t gettin' my hands dirty, tryna fire at niggas (and- sooooo) |
Fuck dustin' off the MAC again |
When you meet your Final Destination, its gon' look like a accident |
Niggas ain’t making it hot, they might sizzle |
And don’t confuse Making It Rain, with like drizzle |
Care less about what chart he on, I’m so far beyond |
Wit' a heart like Omarion, for you maricons |
Underground legend, ahead by eons- |
Fitted white tee on, Couple hundred G’s on |
Pee on peons, skate off in your Scion |
I’m coughin' up acid, you spittin' up Freon |
Send slugs flying, have ya brains leakin' on ya chain |
Since niggas wanna rock these Blood Diamonds (talk to 'em) |
And anybody thought I fucked wit' dudes |
Just lettin' me know- they took the short bus to school |
Put some mills on that- |
They say «Hip Hop Is Dead», but the real is back |
Now how real is that?! |
… I mean, uhhh |
I don’t it’s no real nigga’s left (nahhh) |
I’m feeling like it’s no real nigga left (ah huh) |
Or maybe all the real nigga’s just left- or |
Or maybe I’m the last real nigga left |