Music Video

Featured In

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Nas
Nas
Vocals
Foxy Brown
Foxy Brown
Vocals
Bob James
Bob James
Sampled Artist
Delight
Delight
Keyboards
Earl Klugh
Earl Klugh
Sampled Artist
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Nasir Jones
Nasir Jones
Songwriter
Samuel Barnes
Samuel Barnes
Songwriter
Bob James
Bob James
Songwriter
Earl Klugh
Earl Klugh
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Rich Travali
Rich Travali
Mixing Engineer
Nas
Nas
Executive Producer
Poke & Tone
Poke & Tone
Producer
Stoute
Stoute
Executive Producer
Tom Coyne
Tom Coyne
Mastering Engineer
Trackmasters
Trackmasters
Executive Producer

Lyrics

They never realized, how real Nas, is so decisive It's just the likeness, of Israelite's mist, that made me write this A slight twist, of lime rhyme, be chasin' down your prime time Food for thought or rather mind wine The Don Juan, features the freak shit, my thesis On how we creep quick, fuckin' your wife that ain't so secret It's mandatory - see that pussy, they hand it to me I got no game, it's just some bitches understand my story There ain't no drama that my niggaz never handle for me My gator brand is Maurry, walkin' through rough land before m Scopin' they lay in the cut, weighin' my luck Player haters play this in cell blocks and rock stages Winkin' at some females cops with cocked gauge The mag inside the triple goose Face down on the floors, the routine Don't want hear nobody blow steam, just cream or it's a smoke screen Imagine that - that's why I hardly kick the braggin' raps I zone, to each his own and this ghetto inhabitant Watch dem niggas that be close to you And make sure they do what they supposed to do Cause you know they be thinkin' about smokin' you Never personal, nowadays, it's the ways Now how can I perfect this (uhh, what) Livin' reckless, die for my necklace Crime infected, drivin' a Lexus with a death wish Jettin', checkin' my message on the speaker Boppin to Mona Lisa brown reefer, ten G's, gun and my Visa CD crankin', doin' ninety on the Franklin-D-Roosevelt No seat belt, drinkin' and thinkin' My man caught a bad one son, niggaz is frightened Secret indictments, adds on to one seekin' enlightenment My Movado says seven, the God hour, that's if you follow Traditions started by the school not far from the Apollo My "Fuck tomorrow" motto through the eyes of Pablo Escobar the desperado - word to Custom Auto Some niggaz watch you (uh) see you when you think on the low Ain't hard to spot you, you swore to keep it real after you blow Three ki's, new V's, went to Anguilla with your hoe Stayed around the hood, smoothest cat, gettin' the dough Them old timers, advise you to them problems that's ahead Drama with the Feds, not listenin' just bobbin your head Your Roley shinin', thinkin' to yourself nobody's takin' mine At the same time, your hoe is gettin' snatched from behind Put in the van, where's the hundred grand, script in her hand From all the ice, wouldn't you know You knew these niggaz all your life What made them mark you victim, you fucked up somewhere down the line Now they had to target your wisdom She took em to your place, straight to your safe You doubted it could happen sick of yappin' Dump in your ride, headed to your side Puffin ganja get to your crib, can't find her Just a reminder shit and have your stash house where you crash out Coulda passed out, your coke was gone, now you assed out Dead bitches tell no lies, you should use your eyes Some niggaz watch you (uh) see you when you think on the low Ain't hard to spot you, you swore to keep it real after you blow Three ki's, new V's, went to Anguilla with your hoe Stayed around the hood, smoothest cat, gettin' the dough Them old timers, advise you to them problems that's ahead Drama with the Feds, not listenin' just bobbin your head Your Roley shinin', thinkin' to yourself nobody's takin' mine At the same time, your hoe is gettin' snatched from behind Put in the van, where's the hundred grand, script in her hand From all the ice, wouldn't you know You knew these niggaz all your life What made them mark you victim, you fucked up somewhere down the line Now they had to target your wisdom She took em to your place, straight to your safe You doubted it could happen sick of yappin' Dump in your ride, headed to your side Puffin ganja get to your crib, can't find her Just a reminder shit and have your stash house where you crash out Coulda passed out, your coke was gone, now you assed out Dead bitches tell no lies, you should use your eyes
Writer(s): Nasir Jones, Earl Klugh Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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