Woorden: Dj Clue. The Professional III. War.

(feat. Nas)

[Verse 1: Nas]
Uh, yea, yea
Squinted-eye gangsta, live in a skyscraper
Platinum Patron-drinker, stackin' that grown paper
God pushed me out his nuts
The Devil swallowed me up, I burnt a hole in his guts
Fell down into a Louis Vitton truck
With stashboxes, and niggaz in it sayin' blast Nas shit
Drove down harm's way, puffin' that Bombay
QB thug tattoo on my arm say
Names of my fam, so I'ma read you a scripture
And commandments to get you richer
Bandanas, hammers, MAC's and nina's
With the mismatched Pumas, like Shan in Queensbridge
All white shell toes, that's that Queens thing
Brightland, ice wine, call that weed sling
Know where G slang
And the bitches with bomb ass that slurp on me and my comrades
Got a new contract, come on, black
Shit y'all just gettin' up on, I'm beyond that
No time for crumbs, I really don't see them
They just started livin', just started havin' threesomes
Just started havin' girls who like them
That's why I got married 'cause my world ain't like them
So why they keep tellin' those stories?
Nigga, y'all square, nigga, this is my year, nigga