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Текст песни Young Jeezy - The Realist

Young Jeezy - The Realist слова песни



Текст песни Young Jeezy - The Realist




[Young Jeezy: Talking] Ride on these niggaz I ride on these niggaz I ride on these niggaz (hahaaa) I ride on these niggaz Let's get it! ( )[Verse 1: Young Jeezy] Super charger, the same color as PJ (yeaaaaah) I got a champagne range Big niggaz offed, I got a night-scope aim (Bah) Audio, video, you caught on tape That's a way to get ya ass sent Upstate (dayyyum) In '9-AY! I took them trips down to Lauderdale Back and forth, like Aliyah Chances of gettin' rich is like one-in-a-million (hahaaaaa) Or more like two-in-a-billion Flashin' lights, my mind's playin' tricks on me But the Minuteman still do tricks on me Swear the feds just starin' at a nigga You know, you feelin' ya heart fall into ya feet Summertime niggaz still ridin' with the heat Jeezy De Niro, Snowman Pacino Real niggaz love me because I talk that lingo [Hook: Young Jeezy] And I'm the muhfuckin' bi-nuss... They lies, they phonies, they fakes, These niggaz ain't never sold the weight And I'm the muhfuckin' bi-nuss... They lies, they phonies, they fakes, These niggaz ain't never sold the weight And I'm the muhfuckin' bi-nuss... They lies, they phonies, they fakes, These niggaz ain't never touched the weight And I'm the muhfuckin' bi-nuss... They lies, they phonies, they fakes, These niggaz ain't never touched the weight And I'm the muhfuckin' bi-nuss... [Verse 2: Young Jeezy] Nowadayz the GT's glock black (cheaaa!) The shoes on that muhfucka 3-80 chrome Gotta be careful what you say on the phone I'm 36 souls away From givin' the mic up and goin' back to the streetz (naww) What's the difference, I still eat the same A nigga paranoid, I still sleep the same You niggaz rappin' 'bout blow, like it's a fad Nigga this is my life, I ain't tryna set trends 'Cause everybody knows how that brick-road ends Heartless, maybe I need to see the Wizard Until then, Imma make it snow blizzards [Hook] [Verse 3: Young Jeezy] I stay on the block, and risk my life Day in and day out until a nigga sold out You niggaz playin', I show you what that street shit 'bout Hit you right up with them thangs, and come back with the chains Might cook it in the stove, might cook it in the microwave Either way it's gonna sell, still weigh it on the scale You rappin'-ass niggaz ain't never sold no yams I'm talkin' sucka-free Sundays and iced-out Mondays Pin-up Tuesdays and body-tap Wednesdays You was in the studio, I was on the block In the kitchen at the spot goin' hard with the blocks 25 for the four ways, choppaz by the door-ways [Hook]




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