The Real One (Explicit Version)

The Real One (Explicit Version) easy guitar chords by The 2 Live Crew, Ice-t

N/A
Guitar
Tuning

E A D G B E

Capo

Fret 2

Capo

Transpose

0

Capo
  • C

  • Em

  • Bm

    2
  • D

  • G

  • C

  • Em

  • Bm

    2
  • D

  • G

  • Verse 1
    featur
    ing 
    Ice- T 

    Verse 2
    Verse 
    1: Brother 


    Marquis 



    Only 
    the 
    realest 
    can feel 
    us, 

    cap- 
    peelers 
    and killers 

    Hundred- 
    dollar 
    billers and real 
    niggas 

    Bitches 
    with dime 
    figures, 

    telekenesis in my mind 

    Make 
    my diamonds 
    shine, 

    then I blind 
    niggas 

    Pussy 
    punk 
    perpatrators and 

    playa 
    haters 

    They can't 
    fade 
    us 'cause 

    we 
    two 
    of the greatest 

    Back 
    out 
    to let 
    'em have 

    it, fake 
    fucks 
    and faggots 

    Bow 
    down 
    in the 
    presence 

    of players 
    and kiss 
    the 
    karats 

    A wrist 
    full 
    of 
    (?) for 
    all 

    the mag
    gots 

    Back up 
    and get 
    em
    barrassed, 

    bitch, get 
    off my 
    carriage 

    Uncut, 
    no 
    lactose, hear the raw 
    dose 

    Straight 
    off the 
    key, 

    100% G 

    Who's puttin' 
    it down 
    on 

    Miami's be
    half 

    Home 
    of the 
    nickel 
    (?) and the 

    raw 
    half 

    Everywhere 
    we 
    go, 
    the 
    impression's felt 

    The 
    real is 
    stamped 
    on the 
    bag 

    and 
    the 
    dope 
    is dealt 

    Verse 3
    Chorus 
    (2x): 

    Gat in 
    the back, 
    sun
    roof top, 

    Real 
    one on the 
    scene 
    with 

    the gangsta 
    lean 

    [The real 
    one! 
    Huh? Whut? 

    The 
    real 
    one! 
    Huh, 

    nigga 
    whut?] 

    Verse 4
    Verse 2: Ice- 

    It's 
    '98, playa, 
    check 
    your 
    game 

    Make 
    sure them 
    young 
    boys 

    respect 
    your 
    name 

    Keep 
    your heed 
    at 
    arms, 

    reached, cocked 
    and ready 

    'Cause 
    the 
    streets'll catch you 

    slippin' 
    and rock 
    you 
    steady 

    Watch 
    your back 
    with your 

    homies 
    that you 
    feel 
    is 
    real 

    Your 
    homeboys from your 
    crew, 
    yeah, 

    they're the 
    ones who 
    do 

    Yeah, the 
    suckas that got 
    the 

    playa 
    hater 
    venom, 

    I want to 
    take 
    'em outside 

    and 
    lay slugs 
    up 
    in 
    'em 

    But 
    that's 
    trippin', 

    and that 
    ain't 
    my sport 

    I'd rather 
    lamp 
    up my 
    cirb and 

    flip to 
    rob 
    a port 

    I sip my 
    v- 
    dozen 
    on the 
    street, 

    bump 
    my beat

    When I'm 
    twistin' 
    my dub, 

    can't 
    nobody 
    compete 

    (Imagine this) Hundred- 

    g Lex 
    on your 
    wrist 

    (Ima
    gine this) About 
    10 karats on your 

    fist 

    (Imagine this) All dime 

    hoes on your 
    list 

    Huh, that 
    shit would 
    be nice, 

    but 
    your name 
    ain't 
    Ice 

    (Nigga trip) And 
    screw the 
    style 
    and so on, 

    rock 
    you 
    softly 

    How you 
    gonna 
    step to 
    me, kid, 

    you 
    grew 
    up off 
    me 

    TV, 
    movies 
    and records 
    and 
    tours 

    So 
    many 
    buses 
    in Versace 

    don't 
    wear 
    it no more 

    Called 
    my nigga 
    in Miami, 

    "Marquis, 
    wussup?" 

    He said, 
    "Playa, 

    chop some 
    game 
    on this 
    bubblin' 
    cut!" 

    I said, 
    "Shoot 
    me the track, 

    or you can 
    come 
    too, 

    Or if y'all 
    want 
    to ball 
    in Cali, 

    I'll 
    fly 
    in 

    your 
    whole 

    Crew." 


    Verse 5
    Chor
    us 

    Verse 6
    Verse 
    3: Brother 
    Marquis 

    I'ma 
    stay 
    in the field, 

    on 
    a quest 
    for the 
    mil's 

    And try 
    to keep 
    it 
    real 
    till 
    I die 
    or get killed 

    So I 
    can sit 
    back 
    and kick 
    it, write 

    my 
    own 
    ticket 

    And live this 
    lavish 
    life
    style 
    of trickin' 

    and big- 
    dickin' 

    Seein' that the 
    West 
    and 
    the South's 

    connec
    ted 

    Formulatin', 

    plottin' 
    game 
    to 
    perfection 

    Down 
    with the 
    Syndicate, 

    bossin' 
    new 
    tennis 
    shit 

    Crimes 
    cold 
    de
    fended, 

    get 
    caught, 
    do the 
    sin 

    There's 
    politickin' in the 

    600, drunk 
    and 
    blunted 

    That's 
    how we 
    front 
    it, but 

    you don't 
    want 
    to run 
    up on 
    it 

    Inside 
    the club 
    packin', 
    actin', 

    Got my 
    bitch 
    at home 
    see- 
    sack
    in', 

    got my 
    ones 
    stackin' 

    Parlay, 
    playin' 
    diamond 
    link, 

    cu
    bin' cable 

    Baddest 
    bitches 
    in the 
    stable, 

    mo' 
    money 
    on 
    the table 

    I'm back 
    in the game 
    to show 

    'em how 
    it's done 

    Ice- 
    and Mar
    quis, 

    you're 
    fuckin' 
    with 
    the 
    real 
    one! 

    Outro 1
    Chorus 











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