"On The Real" lyrics - NAS

"On The Real"

On the real, all you crab niggas know the deal

Yeah, 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, cruising 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 'em hoes hurry in
We got the room lit up with perfume and mad boom
And there's video taping blooming asses on the zooming lens
Rollin on you nondescript niggas, you're marked for death
Like Colombians with bad coke that gyp niggas
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 ten years old, nine and half years old
Street's Disciple, the rebirth comin at you this year baby, it's on baby

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
Sipping clear liquor with niggas, that talk sideways
Listening close, to every word in case they violate
Up in the projects Apartment 5D
Spark a lea' it's 'bout the reed, counting 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 niggas, loaded
Teflon coated projectiles'll flip niggas
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 one two 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 'cause he makes a lot of money
So hustlers make crack sales 'cause they deprived and hungry
My country hates that I could run free state to state with hunnies
While making cake with real golded plate rims on Humvees
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, smoking less than I did befo'
You see the kid was broke 'til I spitted vivid expressions
Of hard living ghetto children, of a lesser God
Religion was fast women, expensive cars
Y'all witnessin over 10 years, the best of Nas