Lirik Lagu Real Niggaz - St. Lunatics
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(Chorus - Nelly) 2xReal niggas ride wit' usYou haters gotta ride the busSmoke 'til when my brain gon' bustBank account so plush, the FEDs on usReal niggas ride wit' us (and dime ladies)You haters gotta ride the bus (we drop crazy)Smoke 'til when my brain gon' bustBank account so plush, the FEDs on us
(Kyjuan)Kyjuan's a preppy hippy, cross the bridgy of MississippiI slang thangs, make bread, easy like JiffyCall 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 CrissySmoke backyard or sticky, my man, watch me get busyI wake up with two dimes, both named NikkiI'm a playa dirty, no passion marks, no hickiesCats make me sick when I roll through y'all cityLookin like angry mad, face mad, teeth grittyYou gon' make me go back into my days of U-CityCornrows, penny bros and new DickiesAhh shit, when situation looks shittyI got that thang with me, plus I Puff like DiddyYou niggas can't hang with me, or pop the pain with meSo wrap somethin mo' and hop in the Range with me
(Ali)Check, checkNo picture me rollin, Optimo, glocka four-fourFour-do' Range Rov', mink with matchin KangolWhole hood like "oh", freakin 'em out they mindD's with diamonds on 'em, jackers, I know they want 'emNot, you see the watch, Roley or G-shockYou hear me four, five blocks before you see me, that's the knockI need not speak on that, I speak on ZackAnd how he better fix my shit or give my eight G's backSalute the rugged, flip screen, you gotta love itNavigational system behind the ten, duckin the publicTake my chain off to thaw out, battle four outWe fill, the fattest wad a hun'neds you ever saw outSon break the jar out, twist the muskieOnly real niggas ride and smoke, patna trust meIf I'm lyin, bad mouth, slap then crush meCuss me, suplex lamb, grab the nine and bust me'Cause only....
(Chorus)
(Nelly)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 peelI'm smokin twenty inches of Parelli, wha, up off the wheelI hit the jewelry store at noon, slight case of the chillsI got the face too damn chunky 'cause it's still read "twelve"Well hell, not a shit starter but I be startin some shitHalf the time I'm in the club, half the niggas gettin pissedMe, got they miss, I done, caught they wristAnd they be thinkin you cockblockin 'cause you gave her a kissI walks over to your bitch and asks her "who's is this?"(yours Nelly)Tell 'em one more time just in case he forgetsI be the sleepy eyed, kinky guy, the chinky eyeComin be like I, ay, EI, ready the guyNigga hella high, country grammar, yellin "EI!"Fuckin your cutie pie, forty-nine, not gettin none
(Murphy Lee)You shoulda' seen this ladie's face when I walked in the bankI'm the school boy, I'm Hollywood, smellin like dankLookin like I don't know left from rightHoldin a check, got the whole front desk like "Murphy's set for life!"I agree wit' em, I exchange sacks with seeds in 'emDrivin eighty in the rainiest Rov', TV's in 'emI'm St. Lou, plus true to the arch equals I'm realI'm Hollywood, plus true to the heart equals a mil'I'm killin y'all, matter fact I'm killin myselfIn a category with T-Boz, I'm feelin myselfIt gets no better, Slo says it gotta get betterGotta get wood, gotta get dubs, we gotta get leatherI'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' bustGettin head in the back of the truck, City what upI'm like only....
(Chorus) 2x
(Kyjuan)Kyjuan's a preppy hippy, cross the bridgy of MississippiI slang thangs, make bread, easy like JiffyCall 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 CrissySmoke backyard or sticky, my man, watch me get busyI wake up with two dimes, both named NikkiI'm a playa dirty, no passion marks, no hickiesCats make me sick when I roll through y'all cityLookin like angry mad, face mad, teeth grittyYou gon' make me go back into my days of U-CityCornrows, penny bros and new DickiesAhh shit, when situation looks shittyI got that thang with me, plus I Puff like DiddyYou niggas can't hang with me, or pop the pain with meSo wrap somethin mo' and hop in the Range with me
(Ali)Check, checkNo picture me rollin, Optimo, glocka four-fourFour-do' Range Rov', mink with matchin KangolWhole hood like "oh", freakin 'em out they mindD's with diamonds on 'em, jackers, I know they want 'emNot, you see the watch, Roley or G-shockYou hear me four, five blocks before you see me, that's the knockI need not speak on that, I speak on ZackAnd how he better fix my shit or give my eight G's backSalute the rugged, flip screen, you gotta love itNavigational system behind the ten, duckin the publicTake my chain off to thaw out, battle four outWe fill, the fattest wad a hun'neds you ever saw outSon break the jar out, twist the muskieOnly real niggas ride and smoke, patna trust meIf I'm lyin, bad mouth, slap then crush meCuss me, suplex lamb, grab the nine and bust me'Cause only....
(Chorus)
(Nelly)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 peelI'm smokin twenty inches of Parelli, wha, up off the wheelI hit the jewelry store at noon, slight case of the chillsI got the face too damn chunky 'cause it's still read "twelve"Well hell, not a shit starter but I be startin some shitHalf the time I'm in the club, half the niggas gettin pissedMe, got they miss, I done, caught they wristAnd they be thinkin you cockblockin 'cause you gave her a kissI walks over to your bitch and asks her "who's is this?"(yours Nelly)Tell 'em one more time just in case he forgetsI be the sleepy eyed, kinky guy, the chinky eyeComin be like I, ay, EI, ready the guyNigga hella high, country grammar, yellin "EI!"Fuckin your cutie pie, forty-nine, not gettin none
(Murphy Lee)You shoulda' seen this ladie's face when I walked in the bankI'm the school boy, I'm Hollywood, smellin like dankLookin like I don't know left from rightHoldin a check, got the whole front desk like "Murphy's set for life!"I agree wit' em, I exchange sacks with seeds in 'emDrivin eighty in the rainiest Rov', TV's in 'emI'm St. Lou, plus true to the arch equals I'm realI'm Hollywood, plus true to the heart equals a mil'I'm killin y'all, matter fact I'm killin myselfIn a category with T-Boz, I'm feelin myselfIt gets no better, Slo says it gotta get betterGotta get wood, gotta get dubs, we gotta get leatherI'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' bustGettin head in the back of the truck, City what upI'm like only....
(Chorus) 2x
