The Real One

Verse 1: Brother Marquis<br>Only the realest can feel us, cap-peelers and killers<br>Hundred-dollar billers and real niggas <br>Bitches with dime figures, telekenesis in my mind<br>Make my diamonds shine, then I blind niggas<br>Pussy punk perpatrators and playa haters -<br>They can`t fade us `cause we two of the greatest<br>Back out to let `em have it, fake fucks and faggots<br>Bow down in the presence of players and kiss the karats<br>A wrist full of (?) for all the maggots<br>Back up and get embarrassed, bitch, get off my carriage<br>Uncut, no lactose, hear the raw dose<br>Straight off the key, 100% G<br>Who`s puttin` it down on Miami`s behalf<br>Home of the nickel (?) and the raw half<br>Everywhere we go, the impression`s felt<br>The real is stamped on the bag and the dope is dealt<br><br>Chorus (2x):<br>Gat in the back, sunroof top,<br>Real one on the scene with the gangsta lean<br>[The real one! Huh? Whut?<br>The real one! Huh, nigga whut?]<br><br>Verse 2: Ice-T<br>It`s `98, playa, check your game<br>Make sure them young boys respect your name<br>Keep your heed at arms, reached, cocked and ready<br>`Cause the streets`ll catch you slippin` and rock you steady<br>Watch your back with your homies that you feel is real<br>Your homeboys from your crew, yeah, they`re the ones who do<br>Yeah, the suckas that got the playa hater venom,<br>I wanna take `em outside and lay slugs up in `em<br>But that`s trippin`, and that ain`t my sport<br>I`d rather lamp up my cirb and flip to rob a port<br>I sip my v-dozen on the street, bump my beats<br>When I`m twistin` my dub, can`t nobody compete<br>(Imagine this) Hundred-g Lex on your wrist<br>(Imagine this) About 10 karats on your fist<br>(Imagine this) All dime hoes on your list<br>Huh, that shit would be nice, but your name ain`t Ice<br>(Nigga trip) And screw the style and so on, rock you softly<br>How you gonna step to me, kid, you grew up off me<br>TV, movies and records and tours<br>So many buses in Versace I don`t wear it no more<br>Called my nigga in Miami, "Marquis, wussup?"<br>He said, "Playa, chop some game on this bubblin` cut!"<br>I said, "Shoot me the track, or you can come too,<br>Or if y`all wanna ball in Cali, I`ll fly in your whole Crew."<br><br>Chorus<br><br>Verse 3: Brother Marquis<br>I`ma stay in the field, on a quest for the mil`s<br>And try to keep it real till I die or get killed<br>So I can sit back and kick it, write my own ticket<br>And live this lavish lifestyle of trickin` and big-dickin`<br>Seein` that the West and the South`s connected<br>Formulatin`, plottin` game to perfection<br>Down with the Syndicate, bossin` new tennis shit<br>Crimes cold defended, get caught, do the sin<br>There`s politickin` in the 600, drunk and blunted<br>That`s how we front it, but you don`t wanna run up on it<br>Inside the club packin`, actin`, <br>Got my bitch at home c-sackin`, got my ones stackin`<br>Parlay, playin` diamond link, cubin` cable<br>Baddest bitches in the stable, mo` money on the table<br>I`m back in the game to show `em how it`s done<br>Ice-T and Marquis, you`re fuckin` with the real one!<br><br>Chorus