Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Too Hot, artist - Nas. Date of issue: 31.12.2001
Song language: English
Too Hot |
| «Niggas bit off Nas shit» |
| «Admit it, you bit it» |
| «Niggas bit off Nas shit, niggas, niggas, bit off, Nas shit» |
| «Admit if, you bit it, bit it» |
| You can be a ridah and ride, or a coward and hide |
| Either way you go against me, you still gon die |
| I got four macs, a few nines, I’m ready for beef |
| You wanna talk, it ain’t about money, then let it be brief |
| I need a drop for when it’s a hot, a Hummer for when it’s cold |
| An ill attorney’s in my corner when these fake niggas fold |
| The shit I kick fuck with niggas mentally, makes them wanna mention me |
| And see me doing a quarter century in the penitentiary |
| Nastradamus predicted 50's the future, that’s a fact money |
| I run up on your workers with the mac, like where that pack money |
| I’m a tell ya’ll what Papi told me |
| I got what you need, 19,5 a key |
| I stay catching a stunt, frontin' in somethin' mean |
| And I’ll clap any nigga for the right amount of cream |
| Run up on them all with the same problem solver |
| Beat up ass, tape on the handle, trey eight revolver. |
| What! |
| Projects too hot, niggas better hope we never hit rock |
| Cause then we gonna run up in your spot |
| Screamin' get the fuck on the floor, give us the raw |
| Aiyyo, aiyyo, aiyyo, aiyyo |
| I’m like Sugar Shane Mosley, it ain’t no beef |
| You’re staring, a ticket holder that sits in row three |
| Next to Ron Artest and Kobe |
| Yo I woulda went pro too, then I let them phillies slow me |
| I’m like a black man’s asthma, seeking a pump |
| Breathin' deeper when I’m creeping up |
| Ya’ll need to fuck with the tightest, I stick niggas |
| Encephalitis leavin' whole families in silence |
| My virus is obvious, past on to most rap fiends |
| Un cured, ain’t no vaccine |
| Last seen at the automatic teller machine, maxing out |
| Or in the studio booth, blacking out |
| It’s Con Air style, real twisted, I disappear on some Blair Witch shit |
| Comin' back I’m rich kid |
| Either or, you can’t stop me with my feet in the door |
| Or walk away from the street or the morgue, play your part nigga |
| «Niggas bit off Nas» — Ghostface Killah |
| «Admit it, you bit it» — G. Dep |
| «Tell these niggas somethin' God» — Ghostface Killah |
| What, yo |
| I disturb niggas and white boys, with five pointed stars |
| Tatted on they arms, pimp your moms, like I’m Magic Don Juan |
| From Queens to Hong Kong, weed in the bong |
| We smoke that, leave our minks on the coat rack |
| Those that plot on me, nine times outta ten the nine is on me |
| Feds search the God, but nothin' they find on me |
| When I rap don’t wait to clap applaud sooner |
| Unless you hate a nigga like George Bush Jr., I bring war quick to you |
| Porsche maneuvers through the city like New York sewers |
| Stinkin' up the air, Central Park, horse manure |
| Rims is 22 inches, Benz suspensions |
| 22 inch dick when I’m pimpin' |
| Impotent you niggas get me sick, wanna be soundin' like |
| You knowin' my arithmetic, but we don’t sound alike |
| 50 Cent with Braveheart-ed, we ride to the grave depart us |
| You fake niggas imitate what I started, let’s go |