| Ayo, Queens get the money, niggas still screaming, paper-chasing
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| Where presidential candidates is planning wars with other nations
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| Over steak with Masons
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| Pregnant teens give birth to intelligent gangsters
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| They daddies faceless
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| Play this, by your stomach, let my words massage it and rub it
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| I’ll be his daddy if there’s nobody there to love it
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| Tell him his name Nasir, tell him how he got here
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| Mama was just having fun with someone above her years
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| Niggas is still hating
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| Talking that Nas done fell off with rhyming
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| He’d rather floss with diamonds
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| They pray «Please God, let him spit that 'Uzi in the army lining'
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| That 'shorty doo-wop rolling oo-wops in the park reclining'»
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| Take 27 emcees, put 'em in a line and they’re out of alignment
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| My assignment since he said retirement
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| Hiding behind 8 Mile and The Chronic
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| Gets rich but dies rhyming
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| This is high science
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| Now add 23 more from Queens to B-more
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| I’m over their heads like a bulimic on a seesaw
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| Now that’s 50 porch monkeys ate up at the same time
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| Nasty Nasdaq, y’all gon' bow holmes, this Dow Jones
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| .80 cal chrome, needed time alone to zone
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| The mack left his iPhone and his nine at home
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| My queen used her milkshake to bring y’all to my slaughterhouses
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| I do this for the group home kids in boarding houses
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| This that «nigga» shit that’s on the album
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| For them niggas inside the chalk line in 40 houses
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| Bring back Arsenio
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| Hip-hop was aborted so Nas breathes life, back into the embryo
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| Let us make man in our image, spit it
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| I’m Huey P in Louis V
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| At the eulogy throwing Molotovs for Emmett
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| And you ain’t as hot as I is
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| All of these false prophets is not messiahs
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| You don’t know how high the sky is
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| The square mileage of Earth or what pi is
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| I’m the shaky hand that touched George Foreman in Zaire
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| The same hand that punched down devils
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| That brought down the Towers |