| Do you know that you ready for this, huh?
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| We gon' see if you ready for this
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| I be the street sweeper nigga
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| Quick to leave your whole block shook and shot at
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| From fuckin round with the mi-dack
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| Eleven, twenty-four, act 47
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| Fuck who’s standin around them get close up and down and
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| I done came here to get brains
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| Shoot you twice in your stomach
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| Then leave your boxin shorts full of shit stains
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| You’re bitch-made, you ain’t a gangsta you a sucker ass
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| These niggas scared of your bark but bitch I touch ass
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| And bust back, what’s that? |
| It’s Face-mob in effect
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| With Icarus, Reggie, Jamal and Treach
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| I told you that talkin wasn’t shit to me
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| So bitch be more specific when you spit for me
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| «It ain’t shit to me,» you a ho in fifth degree
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| A discharge from a dick disease
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| You lil' maggot, part time thug for a faggot
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| Plastic-ass chump, you don’t want no static
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| Real niggas—louder
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| Real niggas—louder—louder!
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| Real niggas—yo
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| Real niggas
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| Yo, yo, yo
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| It’s Funk Doc—I thought you knew
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| PPP in the back, and they parkin to, jump
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| Thorough borough, Bricks, ashy elbow kid
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| I fuck chicks off Elmo flicks
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| My tape is off safety, tongue the gun
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| Mouth to barrel, I spit, it numbs the front
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| (So, what’cha—what'cha want?) Yo, my boys is beasty
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| We grew up untamed, unemployed, and eatin'
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| You sharks in the water, avoid the deep end
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| We only fuck chicks that enjoys the beatings
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| Young Ike Turners, disco infern-ers
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| Concentratio camp, nobody turn up
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| I roll up a 'X' that came with kits
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| Leave you with «Nightmares» Dana Dane was with (niiight-marrres)
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| I can train yo' bitch, with a chain and whip
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| It, blow the block down while I change the clip
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| Yo, don’t approach me wrong, little kids call me Smokey-mon
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| Cause the blunts that I light set off smoke alarms
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| And I stand on the corner 'til my coke is gone
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| Niggas wanna get they ice picks, poke the don
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| But they know I got a gun big as Oprah’s arm
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| And I know a old lady that’ll choke they moms
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| A attitude, that’s what I don’t walk without
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| Nigga I’mma time for it, you just talk about
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| Ic' is the man, and I never been to Japan
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| Got a Japanese bitch with my dick in her hand
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| This is the plan, I’m about to get in the van
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| Go and get rid of the man, I done did it again
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| Skunk I blow, then off to the trunk I go
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| Pull the pump out slow, dump out fo'
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| I’m the nigga that the streets raised
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| I’m the nigga that’ll make 3-ways outta nigga PJ’s
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| The nigga, that’ll smack the shit out the DJ
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| If he don’t give Icarus shit a replay
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| Poker flush, y’all niggas joke too much
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| And my gun got cancer, it smoke too much, we
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| Real niggas—louder
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| Real niggas—louder—louder!
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| Real niggas—yo
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| Real niggas
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| First of all you gotta have balls unlike some who act hard
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| I was real ever since I shot out my pops black balls
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| I’m real, I can sense danger and tap calls
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| I’m real, I feel when haters wanna clap 'Mal
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| I look a nigga eye to eye when I speak
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| I’m transparent, I can see if you a killer or a freak
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| Or a bitch that’ll do anything to get rich
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| Or a snitch that’ll drop dime on the click
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| Or a fake, that’ll rather see me at my wake
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| Or a Jake tryin to infilitrate, give me a case
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| I’m real like, BITCH, get the fuck out my face
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| I’m real like let me stick my dick in ya mouth, give you a taste
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| I’m a real nigga if I don’t get no bigger
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| I’m five-five, still knockin out tall niggas
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| We real niggas plottin on dummies with tall figures
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| Real niggas hands on forty caliber triggers
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| Bullets hummin, real like Redman’s fifth comin.
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| Trigger Treach
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| Bastards blunts, buddhas bullets black gats is the lingo!
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| Fuck a jolly jingle, old bitches break for Bingo
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| Christmas time I crack yak and Kris with Kringle
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| Gettin funk from nymphos and scratch my nuts witcho' single
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| Who’s the gay scratcher minus the rap masters
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| Name is Kay, with the gay G after
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| My thugs on the street with the heat, listen to me
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| See them diamond D.M. |
| medallions—snatch! |
| You give 'em to me
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| Mally G’s a part of me, Icky slips his ownself mickies
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| In crowded armories, fuck with Redman you’re a dead man at the robbery
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| You’ll be (?) Adebisi greasy put him on to me, fuck that
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| I’m a throwin' flames fanatic, bashin' brains, come at it
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| Beat you with the shit that they used to frame the attic
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| Your skank-ass go voo-doo, poodle-wig wearin rashy
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| Rusty and trusty, musty-wack-nasty |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Real Niggaz , by - Redman. Song from the album Malpractice, in the genre R&B