| Third grade, singin Star Spangled Banner
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| Using proper manners, learned to handle anger
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| Animal behavior
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| Later on my block rockin wit my jocks on
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| Eating Bon Ton cheese popcorn, hummin a KISS rock song
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| Socks long to my knees
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| Summer breeze runnin through the leaves
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| Playin freeze tag, can I stay out, please dad?
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| Can I hang wit my little gang out?
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| Hearin shots rang out, heard my moms call my name out
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| Come upstairs, run up stairs
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| Take a bath, shit stained underwears
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| Wipe yourself wit paper
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| Bad little ass in my bed at 8:30
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| Wash my plate, ate dinner up late
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| Gazing at the wall, prayin basketball
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| Was my future for this young one
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| Hooping in the sun, proud to be where I come from
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| Later shootin guns fantasizing
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| Fascinated by gold rope chains
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| Looking back at my hood days but things ain’t change
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| *all Nas samples* 2x
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| «Nasty-Nasty-Nasty Nas is a rebel to America»
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| «Lyrical professor, keep ya under pressure»
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| «It's like that, you know it’s like that»
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| «Nas-Nas'll catch wreck», «You got the mad fat fluid»
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| Bumpy Johnson style, old timers, crocodile shoes
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| Pinky rings, bank robbers wit two’s, boss of wild crews
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| Slacks overlapsed, apple jack hats, quarter field coats
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| Cadillacs wit white walls and chrome wheel spokes
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| They was organizing, investing in a piece of the hood
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| They had drugs, bettin numbers, police understood
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| They played the Cotton Club, red carpet, hoes on they arm
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| Plush minks, pimped out gangstas, civil rights wasn’t won
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| E’ry Christmas they was Santa Claus
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| Nixon was the anti-christ
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| Bitches ass was bigger than sniffin nose candy white
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| Listenin to Malcom speak, talcum powder shaving cream
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| Layin back, barber chair, straight razor clean
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| Babies is born, big families started to blossom
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| Mad people just applied for apartments and got em
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| Used to be rules to this game of hustlers and dealers
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| From tommy guns to mac 10's
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| QB’s new born killers (shit is changed)
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| Yo everytime I turn around, niggas shot, niggas stabbed
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| Winter nights, pregnant girls strugglin to get a cab
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| Fiends lurkin, D’s searchin, pat pockets
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| Kids quick to bed but they heads from gats poppin
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| Queensbridge slingers hoppin out Benzes, don status
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| Dope fiends got syringes, poppin out they arms sractchin
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| I remember park jams
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| Gazelles, perfect wave shell
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| Adidas, smellin reefer way before purple haze
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| Private stock bare, niggas wit ill walks like Mark Clare
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| Hats tilted, wild niggas lickin shots in the air
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| Me and Pop was there, through the years our names would switch
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| Ain’t nuttin changed but the names Nastradamus and Blizz
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| What project is this?
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| QB, Vernon and Tenth
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| 12th Street, murderous pimps, hot as hell’s heat
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| What could you tell me, nigga’s seen it all in this game
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| When it’s all said and done, just remember my name |