St. Lunatics - Real Niggaz lyrics

rate me

Real niggas ride wit' us

You haters gotta ride the bus

Smoke 'til when my brain gon' bust

Bank account so plush, the FEDs on us

Real niggas ride wit' us (and dime ladies)

You haters gotta ride the bus (we drop crazy)

Smoke 'til when my brain gon' bust

Bank account so plush, the FEDs on us

Kyjuan's a preppy hippy, cross the bridgy of Mississippi

I slang thangs, make bread, easy like Jiffy

Call me a cool nigga or a Mr. refriger'

Kids ask me ("Mr. can you get crunk and jiggy?")

I reply quickly, bottle of Andres or Crissy

Smoke backyard or sticky, my man, watch me get busy

I wake up with two dimes, both named Nikki

I'm a playa dirty, no passion marks, no hickies

Cats make me sick when I roll through y'all city

Lookin like angry mad, face mad, teeth gritty

You gon' make me go back into my days of U-City

Cornrows, penny bros and new Dickies

Ahh shit, when situation looks shitty

I got that thang with me, plus I Puff like Diddy

You niggas can't hang with me, or pop the pain with me

So wrap somethin mo' and hop in the Range with me

Check, check

No picture me rollin, Optimo, glocka four-four

Four-do' Range Rov', mink with matchin Kangol

Whole hood like "oh", freakin 'em out they mind

D's with diamonds on 'em, jackers, I know they want 'em

Not, you see the watch, Rollie or G-shot

You hear me four, five blocks before you see me, that's the knock

I need not speak on that, I speak on Zack

And how he better fix my shit or give my eight G's back

Salute the rugged, flip screen, you gotta love it

Navigational system behind the ten, duckin the public

Take my chain off to thaw out, battle four out

We fill, the fattest wad a hun'neds you ever saw out

Son break the jar out, twist the muskie

Only real niggas ride and smoke, patna trust me

If I'm lyin, bad mouth, slap then crush me

Cuss me, suplex lamb, grab the nine and bust me

'Cause only....

I'm like the battery, I come through every door on a cell (Duracell)

Mr. energizer, forever ready to make a mil'

Fuck that Cris', let it spill, I hit the gas, and make it peel

I'm smokin twenty inches of Parelli, wha, up off the wheel

I hit the jewelry store at noon, slight case of the chills

I got the face too damn chunky 'cause it's still read "twelve"

Well hell, not a shit starter but I be startin some shit

Half the time I'm in the club, half the niggas gettin pissed

Me, got they miss, I done, caught they wrist

And they be thinkin you cockblockin 'cause you gave her a kiss

I walks over to your bitch and asks her "who's is this?"

(yours Nelly)

Tell 'em one more time just in case he forgets

I be the sleepy eyed, kinky guy, the chinky eye

Comin be like I, ay, EI, ready the guy

Nigga hella high, country grammar, yellin "EI!"

Fuckin your cutie pie, forty-nine, not gettin none

You shoulda' seen this ladie's face when I walked in the bank

I'm the school boy, I'm Hollywood, smellin like dank

Lookin like I don't know left from right

Holdin a check, got the whole front desk like "Murphy's set for life!"

I agree wit' em, I exchange sacks with seeds in 'em

Drivin eighty in the rainiest Rov', TV's in 'em

I'm St. Lou, plus true to the arch equals I'm real

I'm Hollywood, plus true to the heart equals a mil'

I'm killin y'all, matter fact I'm killin myself

In a category with T-Boz, I'm feelin myself

It gets no better, Slo says it gotta get better

Gotta get wood, gotta get dubs, we gotta get leather

I'm like, what, real playas roll on dubs (Lunatics like)

And haters can't kick it wit' us (and our blunts tight)

We smokin 'til our brain gon' bust

Gettin head in the back of the truck, City what up

I'm like only....