|
Intro: Nas
|
|
Yeah yeah, aiyyo black it's time (word?)
|
(Word, it's time nigga?)
|
Yeah, it's time man (aight nigga, begin)
|
Yeah, straight out the fuckin dungeons of rap
|
Where fake niggaz don't make it back
|
I don't know how to start this shit, yo, now
|
|
Verse One: Nas
|
|
Rappers I monkey flip em with the funky rhythm I be kickin
|
Musician, inflictin composition
|
of pain I'm like Scarface sniffin cocaine
|
Holdin a M-16, see with the pen I'm extreme, now
|
Bulletholes left in my peepholes
|
I'm suited up in street clothes
|
Hand me a nine and I'll defeat foes
|
Y'all know my steelo with or without the airplay
|
I keep some E&J, sittin bent up in the stairway
|
Or either on the corner bettin Grants with the celo champs
|
Laughin at baseheads, tryin to sell some broken amps
|
G-Packs get off quick, forever niggaz talk shit
|
Remeniscing about the last time the Task Force flipped
|
Niggaz be runnin through the block shootin
|
Time to start the revolution, catch a body head for Houston
|
Once they caught us off guard, the Mac-10 was in the grass and
|
I ran like a cheetah with thoughts of an assassin
|
Pick the Mac up, told brothers, "Back up," the Mac spit
|
Lead was hittin niggaz one ran, I made him backflip
|
Heard a few chicks scream my arm shook, couldn't look
|
Gave another squeeze heard it click yo, my shit is stuck
|
Try to cock it, it wouldn't shoot now I'm in danger
|
Finally pulled it back and saw three bullets caught up in the chamber
|
So now I'm jetting to the building lobby
|
and it was filled with children probably couldn't see as high as I be
|
(So whatchu sayin?) It's like the game ain't the same
|
Got younger niggaz pullin the triggers bringing fame to they name
|
and claim some corners, crews without guns are goners
|
In broad daylight, stickup kids, they run up on us
|
Fo'-fives and gauges, Macs in fact
|
Same niggaz'll catch a back to back, snatchin yo' cracks in black
|
There was a snitch on the block gettin niggaz knocked
|
So hold your stash until the coke price drop
|
I know this crackhead, who said she gotta smoke nice rock
|
And if it's good she'll bring ya customers in measuring pots, but yo
|
You gotta slide on a vacation
|
Inside information keeps large niggaz erasin and they wives basin
|
It drops deep as it does in my breath
|
I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death
|
Beyond the walls of intelligence, life is defined
|
I think of crime when I'm in a New York state of mind
|
|
("New York state of mine" --> Rakim *repeat 4X*)
|
|
Verse Two: Nas
|
|
Be havin dreams that I'ma gangster -- drinkin Moets, holdin Tecs
|
Makin sure the cash came correct then I stepped
|
Investments in stocks, sewein up the blocks
|
to sell rocks, winnin gunfights with mega cops
|
But just a nigga, walking with his finger on the trigger
|
Make enough figures until my pockets get bigger
|
I ain't the type of brother made for you to start testin
|
Give me a Smith and Wessun I'll have niggaz undressin
|
Thinkin of cash flow, buddah and shelter
|
Whenever frustrated I'ma hijack Delta
|
In the P.J.'s, my blend tape plays, bullets are strays
|
Young bitches is grazed each block is like a maze
|
full of black rats trapped, plus the Island is packed
|
From what I hear in all the stories when my peoples come back, black
|
I'm livin where the nights is jet black
|
The fiends fight to get crack I just max, I dream I can sit back
|
and lamp like Capone, with drug scripts sewn
|
Or the legal luxury life, rings flooded with stones, homes
|
I got so many rhymes I don't think I'm too sane
|
Life is parallel to Hell but I must maintain
|
and be prosperous, though we live dangerous
|
cops could just arrest me, blamin us, we're held like hostages
|
It's only right that I was born to use mics
|
and the stuff that I write, is even tougher than dice
|
I'm takin rappers to a new plateau, through rap slow
|
My rhymin is a vitamin, Hell without a capsule
|
The smooth criminal on beat breaks
|
Never put me in your box if your shit eats tapes
|
The city never sleeps, full of villians and creeps
|
That's where I learned to do my hustle had to scuffle with freaks
|
I'ma addict for sneakers, twenties |