paroles de chanson The Stretch Armstrong and Bobbito Show on WKCR October 28, 1993 - Nas , Jungle

How should I start this?
How should I begin, to sin?
Grab the microphone and my rhymes'll win
Wheel of Fortune, spin, around
Check it out, I'm not a rap clown
Get smacked down by the fuckin' four pound
In your dome
Hit you with the nick plate chrome
Queensbridge, thats my motherfuckin' home
Off the top of my head, yo, I'm a blunt head
Police... Police want a nigga dead
But, I'm not going out like that black
I kick the actual facts in so low
Cold as a Polar Bear, I swear, word to Will
But I'mma chill, rhymes'll kill
Niggas know the style when I freak the profile
Asiatic Child, yo
Grand Wizard on the side of me
Yo, Get on the mic and bless the M-I-C
But I'mma pass it off to my man Six-Nine
Kick it one time
Hey, Yo, Six-Nine a true to life nigga
Yo, my style is iller, iller than Halle Berry's figure
Niggas don't fuck with the Six-Niner
Shorty watch your mouth, I smack you back in your vagina
Heres to reaper crack and sunrise tequila
Kill the margarita heres a 50 get some more cheaper
The ghetto trooper, so sparred up the booth buddha
My thoughts stay nasty like the underground sewage
To be the man you gotta beat the man
It ain't nothing, so start come here but nothin' mark my timberlands
You want static? Lets have it knuckles will flow like the Atlantic
But sink like the Titanic
Since birth I was thinking too fast, my first beef was with the doctor
When he smacked me on the ass
The trigger man, I'm crazy like Sam
My skills so Ill like a with a white chick with a suntan
One for the money
Two for pussy and foreign cars
Three for Alize, niggas deceased or behind bars
I rap divine, God, check the prognosis: is it real or showbiz?
My window faces shootouts, drug overdoses
Live amongst no roses, only the drama, for real
A nickel-plate is my fate, my medicine is the ganja
Here's my basis, my razor embraces, many faces
Your telephone blowing, black stitches or fat shoelaces
Peoples are petro, dramatic automatic .44 I let blow
And back down po-po when I'm vexed so
My pen taps the paper then my brain's blank
I see dark streets, hustling brothers who keep the same rank
Pumping for something, some'll prosper, some fail
Judges hanging niggas, uncorrect bails for direct sales
My intellect prevails from a hanging cross with nails
I reinforce the frail, with lyrics that's real
Word to Christ, a disciple on streets, trifle on beats
But, Chill! Place the microphone and say peace
So Sudan, take the microphone in your hand
Kick the flim flam
Queensbridge, when will the drama ever cease?
I like to say peace Willie and rest in peace
A cool brother who's all about justice
I still can't understand how he left us
Well... he's gone and life goes on you know
We had a crew but one by one we go
Memories of his face that was full of joy
Rock-a Rock-a bye Rock-a bye homeboy
Reminiscing with the brothers standing on the block
Never talk a lot, never was a big shot
It's so hard to say goodbye a sad song
And damn I can't believe my man's gone
Digging back in the days when we used to laugh
Now its a memory that's haunted from the past
Poor Willy its a shame how the ghetto got him
And word is bond - I wanna cry when I think about him
Three bullets to his back on his own block
Not a way to go, killed by the buckshot
Queensbridge wake and up and smell the air
And stop killin' like a villain, like you don't care
Remember Willie and times we had with joy
Rock-a Rock-a bye Rock-a bye homeboy
Rock-a Rock-a bye Rock-a bye homeboy
Rock-a Rock-a bye
My skills are ill like the prez with a plan
My brothers run from Sudan then the Ku-Klux-Klan
Like a kamikaze, Sadaam Hussein then won
Feel the buns of a nun, put tricks for funds and chill
I slow a verse so you can understand
I kill rappers more freaky than a motherfuckin' a Mic Man
And when it comes to a battle
I stand out tall like the man who played the man on The White Shadow
To my man Jungle
Dwelling in the jungle
Where must we go?
Where must we wander
Deep out the skies come the MC Nas
Not to surprise, but to civilize
Yo, the dumb men wandering around the streets
Listenin' to a nigga rappin' on fly beats
I just kicked a mad philly style
Get bucked wild cause you know my style
I could run a word, kick it to a herb
Make 'em turn into a rich man
Increase the plan, the master plan
Yo, I'm buggin' out cause the weed got me buggin'
Plus the Guinness Stout
Grand Wizard yo, you my physical
Why don't you mic the mic, make the microphone miserable
It's cuisine, the G the Wiz (?)
You know our culture gone get Biz
I got my man Nasty on the side of me
My man Six-Nine, you know we're not hotter G
I am the man that'll break it down
I'll break all down cuz I got the sound
I got Queensbridge in the back of me
The Tec and everything, I'm coming strapped G
Money and murder, money and murder
The sick shit you heard comin' from my motherfuckin' my swerve
The words are poetic, I sound energetic
When I'm blunted or Moet'd
My microphone's upsetted cause I'm crazy
Now you know, never lazy
Yo, I'm gonna get all the cash I can
Don't give a fuck if I gotta shoot a policeman
Pluckin' a church and snatch a fuckin'... nah can't be flippin' like that
Cause you niggas try to jock the style
But I left that shit to get the new shit, float like the now
Now you can't catch up G
Cause I got the new styles on the M-I-C
I keep gettin' newer, can't step to her
Nigga from the Bridge, so you keep that shit
And I'mma flip the script next year
And my real name is Nasir
Can't spell it cause I say it too clear
The alphabets are not enough words or letters to use
When it comes to mics I bruise
I just go, with the magical mystic flow
Niggas don't know, that's word to the man Bo
I get Illmatic with the style that's insane
Comin' outta fuckin' murderous brain
Grand Wizard, please take this Mic from me
Before I bug the fuck out and end up D-E-A-D