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St. Lunatics Free City Real Niggaz [(Chorus - Nelly) 2x] 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] 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 [Ali] 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.... [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 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 [Murphy Lee] 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.... [(Chorus) 2x] |
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