Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Wrote My Way Out, artist - Nas.
Date of issue: 17.11.2016
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Wrote My Way Out |
I wrote my way out |
When the world turned its back on me |
I was up against the wall |
I had no foundation |
No friends and no family to catch my fall |
Running on empty, with nothing left in me but doubt |
I picked up a pen |
And wrote my way out (I wrote my way out) |
I picked up the pen like Hamilton |
Street analyst, now I write words that try to channel 'em |
No political power, just lyrical power |
Sittin' on a crate on a corner, sippin' for hours |
Schemin' on a come up, from evening’to sun up |
My man awaitin' trial, misdemeanors we younger |
Courtroom prejudice, insufficient evidence |
Jailhouse lawyers, these images still relevant |
Flickerin' lights inside my project hall |
Sickenin', the mice crawl all night long |
And '87 Reaganism, many pages I’ve written on |
Writin' songs about rights and wrongs and bails bonds |
Master bedroom, bigger than the crib that I was raised at |
I’m the architect like I wrote the code to Waze app |
I’m driven, black Elohim from the streets of Queens |
The definition of what It Was Written means |
Know what I mean? |
I wrote my way out |
When the world turned its back on me |
I was up against the wall |
I had no foundation |
No friends and no family to catch my fall |
Running on empty, there was nothing left in me but doubt |
I picked up a pen |
And I wrote my way out (I wrote my way out) |
I really wrote my way up out of 6E |
Develop relationships with fiends, I know they miss me |
Before the metrocards, it was tokens, I did the ten speed |
Never had wrote a rhyme in my life, what was a sixteen? |
At sixteen, arrested in housin', trips to the mountains |
Came right back, trappin' off couches, watchin' for mouses |
Only tools we was posed with, had a spot, smoke lit |
The hate is just confusion, pay attention how them jokes switch |
Diadora was my favorite, the Mark Buchanans |
Mama couldn’t afford them, I learned everythin' on the border |
That’s a big 8, Clic"parties with private dancers with no mixtape |
Bumble Bee Tuna, now we could get steak |
I persevered, composition, I kept it close |
Competition near, I’m a Spartan without the spear |
Three hundred rhymes, it was written before I wrote it |
Opportunity knockin', might miss it, that window closin' |
This poetry in motion, I’m a poet |
I wrote my way out |
When the world turned its back on me |
I was up against the wall |
I had no foundation |
No friends and no family to catch my fall |
Running on empty, there was nothing left in me but doubt |
I picked up a pen |
And wrote my way out (I wrote my way out) |
High speed, dubbin' these rhymes in my dual cassette deck |
Runnin' out of time like I’m Jonathan Larson’s rent check |
My mind is where the wild things are, Maurice Sendak |
In withdrawal, I want it all, please give me that pen back |
Y’all, I caught my first beatin' from the other kids when I was caught readin' |
«Oh, you think you smart? |
Blah! |
Start bleedin'» |
My pops tried in vain to get me to fight back |
Sister tapped my brains, said, pssh, you’ll get 'em right back |
Oversensitive, defenseless, I made sense of it, I pencil in |
The lengths to which I’d go to learn my strengths and knock 'em senseless |
These sentences are endless, so what if they leave me friendless? |
Damn, you got no chill, fuckin' right I’m relentless |
I know Abuela’s never really gonna win the lottery |
So it’s up to me to draw blood with this pen, hit an artery |
This Puerto Rican’s brains are leakin' through the speakers |
And if he can be the shinin' beacon this side of the G.W.B and |
Shine a light when it’s gray out |
I wrote my way out |
Oh, I was born in the eye of a storm |
No lovin' arms to keep me warm |
This hurricane in my brain is the burden I bear |
I can do without, I’m here (I'm here) |
Cause I wrote my way out |
I picked up the pen like Hamilton |
I wrote my way out of the projects |
Wrote-wrote my way out of the projects |
Picked up the pen like Hamilton |
I wrote my way out of the |
Wrote-wrote my way out of the projects |
I wrote my way out |
Picked up the pen like Hamilton |
I wrote my way out of the |
(I wrote my way out) |
Really, I saw like a hole in the rap game, so if I wanted to put my little two |
cents in the game, then it would be from a different perspective |
(I wrote my way out) |
I thought that I would represent for my neighborhood and tell their story, |
be their voice, in a way that nobody has done it |
Tell the real story |