Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Real Niggaz, artist - Redman. Album song Malpractice, in the genre R&BDate of issue: 21.05.2001
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: DEF JAM, Universal Music
Song language: English
Real Niggaz |
| Do you know that you ready for this, huh? |
| We gon' see if you ready for this |
| I be the street sweeper nigga |
| Quick to leave your whole block shook and shot at |
| From fuckin round with the mi-dack |
| Eleven, twenty-four, act 47 |
| Fuck who’s standin around them get close up and down and |
| I done came here to get brains |
| Shoot you twice in your stomach |
| Then leave your boxin shorts full of shit stains |
| You’re bitch-made, you ain’t a gangsta you a sucker ass |
| These niggas scared of your bark but bitch I touch ass |
| And bust back, what’s that? |
| It’s Face-mob in effect |
| With Icarus, Reggie, Jamal and Treach |
| I told you that talkin wasn’t shit to me |
| So bitch be more specific when you spit for me |
| «It ain’t shit to me,» you a ho in fifth degree |
| A discharge from a dick disease |
| You lil' maggot, part time thug for a faggot |
| Plastic-ass chump, you don’t want no static |
| Real niggas—louder |
| Real niggas—louder—louder! |
| Real niggas—yo |
| Real niggas |
| Yo, yo, yo |
| It’s Funk Doc—I thought you knew |
| PPP in the back, and they parkin to, jump |
| Thorough borough, Bricks, ashy elbow kid |
| I fuck chicks off Elmo flicks |
| My tape is off safety, tongue the gun |
| Mouth to barrel, I spit, it numbs the front |
| (So, what’cha—what'cha want?) Yo, my boys is beasty |
| We grew up untamed, unemployed, and eatin' |
| You sharks in the water, avoid the deep end |
| We only fuck chicks that enjoys the beatings |
| Young Ike Turners, disco infern-ers |
| Concentratio camp, nobody turn up |
| I roll up a 'X' that came with kits |
| Leave you with «Nightmares» Dana Dane was with (niiight-marrres) |
| I can train yo' bitch, with a chain and whip |
| It, blow the block down while I change the clip |
| Yo, don’t approach me wrong, little kids call me Smokey-mon |
| Cause the blunts that I light set off smoke alarms |
| And I stand on the corner 'til my coke is gone |
| Niggas wanna get they ice picks, poke the don |
| But they know I got a gun big as Oprah’s arm |
| And I know a old lady that’ll choke they moms |
| A attitude, that’s what I don’t walk without |
| Nigga I’mma time for it, you just talk about |
| Ic' is the man, and I never been to Japan |
| Got a Japanese bitch with my dick in her hand |
| This is the plan, I’m about to get in the van |
| Go and get rid of the man, I done did it again |
| Skunk I blow, then off to the trunk I go |
| Pull the pump out slow, dump out fo' |
| I’m the nigga that the streets raised |
| I’m the nigga that’ll make 3-ways outta nigga PJ’s |
| The nigga, that’ll smack the shit out the DJ |
| If he don’t give Icarus shit a replay |
| Poker flush, y’all niggas joke too much |
| And my gun got cancer, it smoke too much, we |
| Real niggas—louder |
| Real niggas—louder—louder! |
| Real niggas—yo |
| Real niggas |
| First of all you gotta have balls unlike some who act hard |
| I was real ever since I shot out my pops black balls |
| I’m real, I can sense danger and tap calls |
| I’m real, I feel when haters wanna clap 'Mal |
| I look a nigga eye to eye when I speak |
| I’m transparent, I can see if you a killer or a freak |
| Or a bitch that’ll do anything to get rich |
| Or a snitch that’ll drop dime on the click |
| Or a fake, that’ll rather see me at my wake |
| Or a Jake tryin to infilitrate, give me a case |
| I’m real like, BITCH, get the fuck out my face |
| I’m real like let me stick my dick in ya mouth, give you a taste |
| I’m a real nigga if I don’t get no bigger |
| I’m five-five, still knockin out tall niggas |
| We real niggas plottin on dummies with tall figures |
| Real niggas hands on forty caliber triggers |
| Bullets hummin, real like Redman’s fifth comin. |
| Trigger Treach |
| Bastards blunts, buddhas bullets black gats is the lingo! |
| Fuck a jolly jingle, old bitches break for Bingo |
| Christmas time I crack yak and Kris with Kringle |
| Gettin funk from nymphos and scratch my nuts witcho' single |
| Who’s the gay scratcher minus the rap masters |
| Name is Kay, with the gay G after |
| My thugs on the street with the heat, listen to me |
| See them diamond D.M. |
| medallions—snatch! |
| You give 'em to me |
| Mally G’s a part of me, Icky slips his ownself mickies |
| In crowded armories, fuck with Redman you’re a dead man at the robbery |
| You’ll be (?) Adebisi greasy put him on to me, fuck that |
| I’m a throwin' flames fanatic, bashin' brains, come at it |
| Beat you with the shit that they used to frame the attic |
| Your skank-ass go voo-doo, poodle-wig wearin rashy |
| Rusty and trusty, musty-wack-nasty |