| My niggas got scarred grills, skully hats and gats be fully’s
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| Brrrat, cars peel, the East Coast cartel
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| Rats get their tails snapped and trapped
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| The snitches in the streets and the snitches who rap
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| Pure euphoria, a dose of death to all of ya
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| Coroner choruses sung from The Bridge to Astoria
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| Dreams of fallin' in the elevator, passin' floors
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| Suddenly stop, the doors open up to a brick wall
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| I can smell the haters, wishful thinkers, bad luck prayers
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| Picture your tarot cards and bodyguards getting sprayed up
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| Sabotagin' my makeup, my watches get laced up
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| Even if they indicted Jacob
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| Forensics, paramedics, carry cowards off
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| Defibrillators shock to your chest, try to cough
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| They die and hit Hell from an iron
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| I’m fly in YSL, I’m paid from this shit
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| Got bitches high as hell, and they fucking like AIDS don’t exist
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| They get sent to your hotel, a maid and shit
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| Put a barrel in a capo mouth, 'til his scalp come out
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| You a kid, you don’t live what you rap about
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| King poetic, too many haters to count
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| Too much paper to count, QB, bitch!
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| Join me in war, many will live, many will mourn
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| Money Over Bullshit, pistols over brawn
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| Afraid not of none of you cowards but of my own strength
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| Afraid not of none of you cowards but of my own strength
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| (My own strength nigga, that’s what I’m scared of, ha-ha)
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| Join me in war, many will live, many will mourn
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| Money Over Bullshit, pistols over brawn
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| Afraid not of none of you cowards but of my own strength
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| Afraid not of none of you cowards but of my own strength
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| Got seven candles lit, black wallpaper, black carpet
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| Thinking about which nigga to target
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| You kill a nigga today, he lives forever
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| So I plotted out smarter, there’ll be no martyrs
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| Black TEC on the table, Mag .44
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| Black negligee on my bitch, she’s at the door
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| Black fish eggs, nigga, that’s the caviar
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| You niggas fish-made, y’all niggas is fifth grade
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| Niggas, it’s fifty ways to dissect the General
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| If I give ya the top five, you will not survive
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| Rule 1: cocksucker, keep my name from your tongue
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| Rule 2: thought you knew don’t fuck with God’s Son
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| Rule 3: see, matter fact, I just wait
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| If y’all reach top five, then I’ma eat y’all alive
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| Each one of you guys that claim Hip-Hop is still alive
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| Like y’all ain’t in agreement with Nas
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| That shit is dead motherfucker, it’s dead, bitch…
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| Join me in war, many will live, many will mourn
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| Money Over Bullshit, pistols over brawn
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| Afraid not of none of you cowards but of my own strength
|
| Afraid not of none of you cowards but of my own strength
|
| (My own strength nigga, that’s what I’m scared of, ha-ha)
|
| Join me in war, many will live, many will mourn
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| Money Over Bullshit, pistols over brawn
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| Afraid not of none of you cowards but of my own strength
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| Afraid not of none of you cowards but of my own strength
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| From crack pushers to Lac' pushers and ambushers
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| And morticians to fortresses, case-dismisses
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| Laced in riches, cake ridiculous
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| From nickel and dimin' to trickin' them diamonds
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| Vegas, places in Switzerland
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| From non-blastin' to auto, I don’t have to blast mine
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| They blast mine, black 9, you flatline, my cash climb
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| Buy rare art, antique pieces, Mona Lisa’s, own no leases
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| Five-star restaurant eaters; |
| don’t forget who your peeps is
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| 'Sposed to dine with you, sip that good wine with you
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| Only if they grind with you or slang for ya
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| Seen niggas live, laugh, party and die in that very same corner
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| Pretty girls glance at us, status unconceivable
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| Private planes landed out in Teterboro, weed I twirl
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| Once even gave me a phobia, that I be in a spot trapped like Madame Zenobia’s
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| with this kid eyein' my Rollie, y’all
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| Join me in war, many will live, many will mourn
|
| Money Over Bullshit, pistols over brawn
|
| Afraid not of none of you cowards but of my own strength
|
| Afraid not of none of you cowards but of my own strength
|
| (My own strength nigga, that’s what I’m scared of, ha-ha)
|
| Join me in war, many will live, many will mourn
|
| Money Over Bullshit, pistols over brawn
|
| Afraid not of none of you cowards but of my own strength
|
| Afraid not of none of you cowards but of my own strength
|
| There it is, QB, bitch! |
| Yeah…
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| QB, bitch! |
| Yeah, yeah… QB, bitch! |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Money Over Bullshit, artist - Nas. Album song Hip Hop Is Dead, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп