On The Real lyrics

Artist  : Nas 
Song : On The Real



 Send "On The Real" Ringtone to your Cell 

 Yeah, yeah, on the, on the, on the

On the real, all you crab niggaz know the deal



Finally up in this nigga

Let's pay homage to Illmatic

Let's put the crown where it's at

10 years never been done this real by nobody



To my seed, may I lead you into no greed or
evil

In the categories of stories I breed my sequel

You know the money, blues, blunts, broken 22's

Monkey see, monkey do



Shorty sipping sunny dew

Now it's V S O P in a phantom, mad smoky

Murder trees, cruisin' gat in the stash so it
won't poke me

Up in the Trump Plaza, Suite 3010, don't make no
noise



'Cause we dirty tell them hoes hurry in

We got the room lit up with perfume and mad
boom

And there's video taping bloomin' ass's on the
zoomin' lens

Rollin' on you nondescript niggaz



You're marked for death like Colombians with bad
coke that gyp niggaz

Tilt the dutch, twisted up the uwee if you're
skilled enough

In will we trust, salute the dead the nine mili
busts



That verse is 10 years old,  9 1/2 years old

Street's Disciple

The Rebirth comin' at you this year baby

It's on baby



Yeah to the hood, may this be the day that we pop
them bottles

This is mandatory, what if there's not
tomorrow?

You know the murder rate, jealousy, you heard 'em
say

He say, she say, I'm bout cheddar, he don't
deserve to make



Sippin' clear liquor with niggaz, that talk
sideways

Listenin' close, to every word in case they
violate

Up in the projects Apartment 5D

Spark a lea' it's bout da reed, countin'
everything the block see



We 'bout to need to take the corners from them
cowards

Get it on so y'all can move more coke powder, by
the hour

Hold in case we gotta rip niggaz

Loaded teflon coated projectiles'll flip
niggaz



From ninth grade to lightweight to grams to my

Mans with guns in hand

Police vans, they missed the summers again



Yeah, power to the people

Death to the phonies

This beast to the mic 1, 2 check

Y'all fed-e-rallies on me



And they look like you approachin' me like how
you, homie?

The F B I see only one problem, they try to slump
me

After the young black male 'cuz he makes a lot of
money

So hustlers make crack sales 'cuz they deprived
and hungry



My country hates that I could run free state to
state with hunnies

While makin' cake with real golded plate rims on
Hum-V's

The bush stroker, the kush smoker, nigga

Just when you thought it was over look over your
shoulders



I'm 30 now, baby sip drinks and sip 'em slow

Motto no stress, smokin' less than I did befo'

You see the kid was broke till I spitted vivid
expressions of hard

Livin ghetto children, of a lesser god, religion
was fast women

Expensive cars y'all witnessin' over 10 years