Music Video

Featured In

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Nas
Nas
Vocals
Kid Capri
Kid Capri
Scratches
Sting
Sting
Sampled Artist
The Honey Drippers
The Honey Drippers
Sampled Artist
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Nasir Jones
Nasir Jones
Songwriter
Samuel Barnes
Samuel Barnes
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Nas
Nas
Executive Producer
Trackmasters
Trackmasters
Executive Producer
Rich Travali
Rich Travali
Mixing Engineer
Tom Coyne
Tom Coyne
Mastering Engineer
Poke & Tone
Poke & Tone
Producer
Stoute
Stoute
Executive Producer

Lyrics

Fake thug, no love, you get the slug, CB4 Gusto Your luck low, I didn't know 'til I was drunk though You freak niggas played out, get fucked and ate out Prostitute turned bitch, I got the gauge out 96 ways I made out, Montana way The Good-F-E-L-L-A, verbal AK spray Dipped attache, jumped out the Range, empty out the ashtray A glass of 'Ze make a man Cassius Clay Red dot plots, murder schemes, thirty-two shotguns Regulate with my dunn's, 17 rocks gleam from one ring They let me let y'all niggas know one thing There's one life, one love, so there can only be one King The highlights of living, Vegas style roll dice in linen Antera spinning on milleniums, twenty G bets I'm winning them Threats I'm sending them, Lex with TV sets the minimum Ill sex adrenaline Party with villains, a case of Demi-Sec to chase the Henny Wet any clique, with the semi TEC who want it? Diamonds I flaunt it, chicken-heads flock I lace 'em Fried broiled with basil, taste 'em, crack the legs Way out of formation, it's horizontal how I have 'em Fucking me in the Benz wagon Can it be Vanity from Last Dragon? Grab your gun it's on though Shit is grimy, real niggas buck in broad daylight With the broke MAC it won't spray right Don't give a fuck who they hit, as long as the drama's lit Yo, overnight thugs, bug 'cause they ain't promised shit Hungry-ass hooligans stay on that piranha shit I never sleep, because sleep is the cousin of death I ain't the type of brother made for you to start testin' I never sleep, because sleep is the cousin of death I ain't the type of brother made for you to start testin' I never sleep, because sleep is the cousin of death I ain't the type of brother made for you to start testin' I never sleep, because sleep is the cousin of death I ain't the type of brother made for you to start testin' I peeped you frontin', I was in the Jeep Sunk in the seat, tinted with heat, beats bumpin' Across the street you was wildin' Talkin' 'bout how you ran the Island in '89 Layin' up, playin' the yard with crazy shine I cocked a baby 9 that nigga grave be mine, clanked him What was he thinking on my corner when it's pay me time? Dug 'em, you owe me cousin, something told me plug him So dumb, felt my leg burn, then it got numb Spun around and shot one, heard shots and dropped son Caught a hot one, somebody take this biscuit 'fore the cops come Then they came asking me my name, what the fuck I got stitched up and went through Left the hospital that same night, what Got my gat back, time to backtrack I had the drop so how the fuck I get clapped? Black was in the Jeep watching all these scenes speed by It was a brown Datsun, and yo nobody in my hood got one That clown nigga's through, blazin' at his crew daily The 'Bridge touched me up severely, hear me? So when I rhyme it's sincerely yours Be lightin' L's sippin' Coors, on all floors of project halls Contemplatin' war niggas I was cool with before We used to score together, Uptown copping the raw But uh, a thug changes, and love changes And best friends become strangers, word up Y'all know my steelo There ain't no army that can strike back Y'all know my steelo There ain't no army that can strike back Y'all know my steelo There ain't no army that can strike back Y'all know my steelo There ain't no army that can strike back Thug niggas Yo, to them thug niggas gettin' it on in the world, you know? To them niggas that's locked down Doin' they thing, survivin', ya know'm sayin'? To my thorough niggas, New York and worldwide Yo, to the Queensbridge Militia, yo '96 shit The Firm clique Illmatic, nigga It was written though It's been a long time comin' Y'all fake niggas, tryna copy Better come with the real though Fake-ass niggas, yo (They throw us slugs, we throwin' them back, what) Bring the shit, man, live, man (Fuck that son, word up) '96 shit
Writer(s): Gordon Matthew Sumner, Samuel J. Barnes, Nasir Jones, Jean Claude Olivier, Dominic James Miller Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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