Artist: Dr. Ama f/ Haxaw, R.B.I. Album: Sex, Crime & Audiotape Song: The Realest Typed by: Cno Evil [Dr. Ama] Doc is the name, glock in the hand Pop off at scrams, that twat nigga ran My hood is my fam, N.Y.C. my land Wit thugs pulling scams, we don't give a damn Fuck Uncle Sam, got love for the fans Move drugs by the grams, got slugs for ya man Fake hugs wanna ban, cuz they can't understand My man 100 Grand on hip hop from S.I. land No key wit the plan, violent is my clan Pile up in the van, silencer for the blam Silence of the Lamb, silence words that slam Hammer never jam, G-O-D don't leave the hand Now what, homey, and, your mouth shut like the clam We deep like raising sand, you get japped like Japan Slapped up, clapped up, caught up in the black truck Ten miles an hour, gassed up, that's how we act up Your back up backed up, fact your lackey black gush That sucks won't attack us, guess that's a wrap, what [Haxaw] It ain't a game when we come through, we slaying You scream at escalades like ya'll ain't playing You homo, shit pop, you taking flight I get it roxy anywhere nigga, day or night True thug, pass my homey, the gauge and fight Beat you down something stupid, hardly suade my Nikes Lace you tight, while ya'll practice how to hate me, right Only thing on my mind is the cake, be like I'm crazy nice, eat the track like steak and rice Don't fuck wit Haxaw, tell ya man to save his life Uh, you ain't know I was a problem giver That left hook, make it definetly hard to get up Or, pick up them launchers and bomb your stripper Ya'll niggas need to send an army to get us Oh, yeah, I'm rolling with killers No need to distinguish, we handling business Strictly dishing headshots, I ain't having a witness Or leaving one either, til I die, I'm gon' live by them heaters But don't get that shit twisted, dog, we swift with them beaters Make your ass lean back like a spliff of them cheebas And just, eat your food like them cookies from Keebler You ain't convincing me you hard dog, you soft as a diva I roll wit Staten Island killas, and we off of the meter What you ain't know about Haxaw, I'm the boss of your leader If I ain't terrorizing hoods, I'm in the loft with a skeezer Patron on ice, blaze sparking the trees up Hundred and fifty dollar L's, how I do, fam, it's nothing, it's peanuts [R.B.I.] My man, pass me the mic, just came from the streets He trust me, to pass sight, when it's on, pass the heat This is, hardly a norm, when I storm the beats A hustler, my arms and legs form streets Never, reep wit movements, talk is cheap Walk wit me, quietly, and plug your leaks It's bout business, and more business, every week Don't like to say week, cuz week could be tooken for weak Stand strong on my feet forever, look in the eyes of a killa Cuz he playing for keeps, everybody get that money We knock teeth, R.B.I. Tell you the truth, my visions are never bleek Keep bling in my pockets, my lady like streets Beside, when I go in, I'm going deep Back to the track, see what I see, talk the real Only if it's real talk, you seek, that's the deal Pull on your foreskin, I reveal what's underneath In the beginning, I'm a man, in the end I'm a beast Smoke better than an Indian chief, to maintain composure My anger is coming from my feet