Return Of The Real lyrics

Yo, what's up with all these n*ggas
On these muthaf*ckin records talkin all this bullsh*t
(Man, I don't know about these n*ggas out here
Them other sucker-ass n*ggas, them old fake-ass b*tches)
I ain't tryin to hear that sh*t, man
These b*tches ain't players, man
(Yeah man
You know these n*ggas out here been fakin for years, man
I'm glad my n*gga Ice comin with that HP sh*t
That high-powered sh*t..)

[ VERSE 1 ]
Peace to my street n*ggas movin that weight
Much love to my comrads who's out in upstate
Mad connections from the bottom to the top of the game
Street fame, I got much that's in touch with my name
Got a overload of guns to unload on a lame n*gga trippin
Wake up my posse, interrup the Rémy-sippin
Four in your back and keep bailin
Listen to the HK wailin and your vital signs failin
Everyone that ever met me knows
I work b*tches like n*ggas, pimp n*ggas like hoes
Command a mack that's immaculate, your girl's naked
You think she ain't been hit, kid yo, you best to check it
For ten years I been connected to the top of this
Hold your breath, kid, I'm never droppin this
Too busy rollin off them fat chrome rims
And n*ggas who trip get sung hymns
We crash clubs and security sh*ts
Cause they know they got size but they know we keep clips
Crazy muthaf*ckas lickin shots in doors
Leavin suckers' bodies bleedin over nightclub floors
You don't want none, son, stay gone
Break north when I come and you might live long
Yeah, my face kickin treble, you're just a pebble
You're gettin rocked, yo E, c*ck the Glock
And let these n*ggas know, yo, that the west don't play none
Fire shoots out of my strap like a ray-gun
You broke ill and you cold f*cked up
Now you're bleedin through your fingers while you're holdin your gut
For real
[ Chorus ]
So get your money how you want to, friend
But when it's time to count the chips only the real will win
(Return of the real) the game of life is only fake and true
But it's all about the dollars when the day is through

[ Hot Dollar ]
(Cause the pimps don't get no bigger
Than these here n*ggas)

It's the return of the real

(These muthaf*ckas best to get to recognize
Before I gets to chastizin
Cause see, the sh*t all ties in
It's just some of that pimp, player, hustler sh*t
Ice-T been around for a while now
n*gga was gangbangin when gangbangin wasn't even cool, n*gga
What you know about that sh*t?)

[ VERSE 2 ]
I go deep into the street life's anatomy
A n*gga take me out - yo, what a upset that'd be
And if I fall I fall on cushions, ???
Hittin n*ggas up with the Tec and watch the blood gushin
I see your videos, a 100 n*ggas in it you don't know
Framed in the lens, bought friends
Who really got your back, n*gga, check it out
You really possess like zero street clout (think about)
The only place you're safe is in the studio
Yellin in the mic, you'se a b*tch, that's right
I take a n*gga like you and make him prostitute cute
So what you got a gun, punk, you're scared to shoot
You front hardcore, but I don't feel ya
Kids from my hood'll take your punk ass and peel ya
Let me check my Rolex quick because time's money
Squintin from the Pavet face because it's kinda sunny
Skinnin the top back, flossin the rag and the thing
Feelin the sun, backin off of my pinky ring
Hittin the 'Shaw with my n*ggas and clown
Lift the ass, hit the switch, raise the front off the ground
But most of the time you can't see a n*gga
Deep in the archives parlayin new ways to get my bank bigger
[ Chorus ]
[ Hot Dollar ]
(As I slides up out the do'
Gots to give a special props shout out to that n*gga the O.G
Got muthf*ckin Red in the house
[Name] and the muthaf*ckin ringleader of funk, DJ Ace
Hot Dollar's up in this muthaf*cka
If you didn't know
Count your muthaf*ckin blessings and handcuff your hoe
You know what I'm sayin?
It's all good for my hood
Comp-town in the muthaf*ckin house
n*gga don't know well I tell ya like this
West Hollywood Hills
That's the deal, fool
You know I know the rules..)