Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Real Nillaz, artist - Mathematics. Album song The Problem, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 27.06.2005
Song language: English
Real Nillaz |
| Portable DATs, Sony headphones |
| El Dorado’s, thousand dollar bottles, get blown |
| Dippin' at Willie’s, Millie Jackson chicks |
| Dusted out Blondie, slide me, we wrote the bowl, we take the magnets |
| Man handling the mics, wool scarves, Evil Knievel bikes |
| I like eggs in my rice, circus money, read the Staten Island funnies |
| Eighty seven, Shallah rock, lotto’s and the gumby |
| Tri-boro, fly negro, rap for Glaciers |
| Do it for cee-lo games, chasers |
| Battle for bitches, million dollar cribs |
| Grandfather gamble those wit ribs |
| Yes he did, life is wonderful, fly living rooms |
| Brass brooms, catch me in the city of wasps |
| Dusted out with Doc Doom, slide you in |
| Thirty six to the hip, you need Neo |
| Sock it to me G.O., the block we spot V. O |
| Live at the handball session, white Wimbledon’s |
| Send them, my throat is the top session for men |
| Rap graduate, seen through the needles that was used by great |
| Fuck around and get rocked for three notes |
| And fuck your bitch ass alligators |
| When I see you on stage, throw out the gauge |
| My man’s dough made it --- |
| Real nillaz do real things |
| Gold me’dal with the real bling |
| Ghetto child with the real sling |
| Throw the blaow, with the real aim |
| Hold it down for your nillaz, keep it real man |
| Lean back one time as you feel the liquor |
| Light a match, one time, inhale the ciga' |
| Blow the mack one time, when you kill a nigga |
| Real always gonna recognize real, my nilla |
| Real nillaz do real things |
| Gold me’dal with the real bling |
| Ghetto child with the real sling |
| Throw the blaow, with the real aim |
| Hold it down for your nillaz, keep it real man |
| Lean back one time as you feel the liquor |
| Light a match, one time, inhale the ciga' |
| Blow the mack one time, when you kill a nigga |
| Real always gonna recognize real, my nilla |
| I hold it down with vets, make threats and take like chess |
| Blow cess to sets, break life sweats |
| Rep from the home of chrome, in eight flight steps |
| Town houses, white grams, brown ounces |
| After school drug deal courses, pound counslers |
| Round thousands, rubberband, black accountants |
| We them hood prowlers, live pushers |
| Try to hook the stripper, before they wipin' out they eye boogers |
| Stampede, nailed him, Sonny, Bronx Tale |
| Them locked the doors, he’s home, now you can’t leave |
| OD’ing in the Kennedy suite |
| Too hot to think, move for my enemy streets |
| I don’t sleep cause the drama might catch you on the beauty nap |
| It’s doobie rap, feds want you with a boobie trap |
| Real nillaz do real things |
| Gold me’dal with the real bling |
| Ghetto child with the real sling |
| Throw the blaow, with the real aim |
| Hold it down for your nillaz, keep it real man |
| Lean back one time as you feel the liquor |
| Light a match, one time, inhale the ciga' |
| Blow the mack one time, when you kill a nigga |
| Real always gonna recognize real, my nilla |
| «Ooh I’m too blind I see the light» |
| «A fool can’t see the light» |
| «A fool can’t see the light» |
| «But a fool a fool can’t see the light» |
| «Ooh I’m too blind I see the light» |
| «Ooh I’m too blind I see the light» |
| «But a fool a fool can’t see the light» |
| «A fool can’t see the light» |
| Aiyo, elephant guns, mad ounces |
| Colorful whips, slapped up bouncers |
| Vouche, crawling like a unit |
| Fly fragrance, faceless, rarely out of spaceships |
| Many fakes got lynched, see all up on the graphic |
| Taylor made mortals, leanin' on suede walls, leather’s on |
| Ballers, maybe Benz lensers, sprayin' out of sixes |
| Christmas money, vicious consolidated drama rip bitches |
| The rich version of back, side scraper paper |
| Wu belt makers, show & prove that all my shit match |
| Tri-colored diamond, foreign color five, all kinds of iron |
| Swiss cheese, yo, big boy, we giants |
| Aiyo, my niggas get dramatic |
| Pump shots, nine Glocks, semi-automatic |
| Blat, take that, from this lyrical fanatic |
| We can go to war, or just peep the diplomatic |
| For paper, I’m an addict |
| Aiyo, my niggas get dramatic |
| Pump shots, nine Glocks, semi-automatic |
| Blat, take that, from this lyrical fanatic |
| We can go to war, or just peep the diplomatic |
| For paper, I’m an addict |
| Real nillaz do real things |
| Gold me’dal with the real bling |
| Ghetto child with the real sling |
| Throw the blaow, with the real aim |
| Hold it down for your nillaz, keep it real man |
| Lean back one time as you feel the liquor |
| Light a match, one time, inhale the ciga' |
| Blow the mack one time, when you kill a nigga |
| Real always gonna recognize real, my nilla |