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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

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

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