The Real One

Verse 1: Brother Marquis Only the realest can feel us, cap-peelers and killers Hundred-dollar billers and real niggas Bitches with dime figures, telekenesis in my mind Make my diamonds shine, then I blind niggas Pussy punk perpatrators and playa haters - They can't fade us cause we two of the greatest Back out to let 'em have it, fake fucks and faggots Bow down in the presence of players and kiss the karats A wrist full of (?) for all the maggots Back up and get embarrassed, bitch, get off my carriage Uncut, no lactose, hear the raw dose Straight off the key, 100% G Who's puttin' it down on Miami's behalf Home of the nickel (?) and the raw half Everywhere we go, the impression's felt The real is stamped on the bag and the dope is dealt Chorus (2x): Gat in the back, sunroof top Real one on the scene with the gangsta lean [The real one! Huh? Whut? The real one! Huh, nigga whut?] Verse 2: Ice-T It's '98, playa, check your game Make sure them young boys respect your name Keep your heed at arms, reached, cocked and ready Cause the streets'll catch you slippin' and rock you steady Watch your back with your homies that you feel is real Your homeboys from your crew, yeah, they're the ones who do Yeah, the suckas that got the playa hater venom I wanna take 'em outside and lay slugs up in 'em But that's trippin', and that ain't my sport I'd rather lamp up my cirb and flip to rob a port I sip my v-dozen on the street, bump my beats When I'm twistin' my dub, can't nobody compete (Imagine this) Hundred-g Lex on your wrist (Imagine this) About 10 karats on your fist (Imagine this) All dime hoes on your list Huh, that shit would be nice, but your name ain't Ice (Nigga trip) And screw the style and so on, rock you softly How you gonna step to me, kid, you grew up off me TV, movies and records and tours So many buses in Versace I don't wear it no more Called my nigga in Miami, "Marquis, wussup?" He said, "Playa, chop some game on this bubblin' cut!" I said, "Shoot me the track, or you can come too Or if y'all wanna ball in Cali, I'll fly in your whole Crew." Chorus Verse 3: Brother Marquis I'ma stay in the field, on a quest for the mil's And try to keep it real till I die or get killed So I can sit back and kick it, write my own ticket And live this lavish lifestyle of trickin' and big-dickin' Seein' that the West and the South's connected Formulatin', plottin' game to perfection Down with the Syndicate, bossin' new tennis shit Crimes cold defended, get caught, do the sin There's politickin' in the 600, drunk and blunted That's how we front it, but you don't wanna run up on it Inside the club packin', actin' Got my bitch at home c-sackin', got my ones stackin' Parlay, playin' diamond link, cubin' cable Baddest bitches in the stable, mo' money on the table I'm back in the game to show 'em how it's done Ice-T and Marquis, you're fuckin' with the real one! Chorus