[gunshots] [Nas talking] ("Fuck Jay-Z") Whats up niggas, ay yo, I know you aint talkin bout me dog You, what? ("Fuck Jay-Z") You been on my dick nigga, you love my style, nigga ("Fuck Jay-Z") [Chorus:] (I) Fuck with your soul like ether (Will) Teach you the king you know you (Not) "Gods son" across the belly (Lose) I prove you lost already Brace yourself for the main event Yall impatiently waitin Its like an AIDS test, whats the results? Not positive, whos the best? Pac, Nas and Big Aint no best, East, West, North, South, flossed out, greedy I embrace yall with napalm Blows up, no guts, left chest, face gone How could Nas be garbage? Semi-autos at your cartilege Burner at the side of your dome, come outta my throne I got this, locked since 9-1 I am the truest, name a rapper that I aint influenced Gave yall chapters but now I keep my eyes on the Judas With Hawaiin Sophie fame, kept my name in his music Check it [Chorus] [talking] Ay yo, pass me the weed, pour my ashes out on these niggas man (no doubt) Ay, yall faggots, yall kneel and kiss the fuckin ring [Chorus] Ive been fucked over, left for dead, dissed and fogotten Luck ran out, they hoped that Id be gone, stiff and rotten Yall just piss on me, shit on me, spit on my grave (uh) Talk about me, laugh behind my back but in my face Yall some "well wishers," friendly actin, envy hidin snakes With your hands out for my money, man, how much can I take? When these streets keep callin, heard it when I was sleep That this Gay-Z and Cockafella Records wanted beef Started cockin up my weapon, slowly loadin up this ammo To explode it on a camel, and his soldiers, I can handle This for dolo and its manuscript, just sound stupid When KRS already made an album called Blueprint First, Biggies ya man, then you got the nerve to say that you better than Big Dick suckin lips, whynt you let the late, great veteran live [talking] (I...will...not...lose) "Gods son" across the belly, I prove you lost already The king is back, where my crown at? (Ill...will) Ill Will rest in peace, lets do it niggas [Chorus] Yall niggas deal with emotions like bitches Whats sad is I love you cause youre my brother You traded your soul for riches My child, Ive watched you grow up to be famous And now I smile like a proud dad, watchin his only son that made it You seem to be only concerned with dissin women Were you abused as a child, scared to smile, they called you ugly? Well life is hard, hug me, dont reject me Or make records to disrespect me, blatent or indirectly In 88 you was gettin chased through your buildin Callin my crib and I aint even give you my numbers All I did was gave you a style for you to run with Smilin in my face, glad to break bread with the god Wearin Jaz chains, no tecs, no cash, no cars No jail bars Jigga, no pies, no case Just Hawaiian shirts, hangin with little Chase You a fan, a phony, a fake, a pussy, a Stan I still whip your ass, you thirty-six in a karate class You Tae-bo hoe, tryna work it out, you tryna get brolic? Ask me if Im tryna kick knowledge Nah, Im tryna kick the shit you need to learn though That ether, that shit that make your soul burn slow Is he Dame Diddy, Dame Daddy or Dame Dummy? Oh, I get it, you Biggie and hes Puffy Rockafeller died of AIDS, that was the end of his chapter And thats the guy yall chose to name your company after? Put it together, I rock hoes, yall rock fellas And now yall try to take my spot, fellas? Phillys hot rock fellas, put you in a dry spot, fellas In a pine box with nine shots from my glock, fellas Foxy got you hot cause you kept your face in her puss What you think, you gettin girls now cause of your looks? Ne-gro please You no mustache havin, with whiskers like a rat Compared to Beans you wack And your man stabbed Un and made you take the blame You ass, went from Jaz to hangin with Caine, to Herb, to Big And, Eminem murdered you on your own shit You a dick-ridin faggot, you love the attention Queens niggas run you niggas, ask Russell Simmons Ha, R-O-C get gunned up and clapped quick J.J. Evans get gunned up and clapped quick Your whole damn record label gunned up and clapped quick Shaun Carter to Jay-Z, damn you on Jaz dick So little shortys gettin gunned up and clapped quick How much of Biggies rhymes is gon come out your fat lips? Wanted to be on every last one of my classics You pop shit, apologize, nigga, just ask Kiss
Artist: Nas
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