Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Story Board, artist - Nas. Album song Boss' Life 3, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 09.12.2008
Record label: DJ NETWORK
Song language: English
Story Board |
Blaze a 50, sit back in the drop top Azure Bentley |
Of course with me, this chick who’d make Bobby divorce Whitney |
Brazilian candy, from Miami |
Masseuse, wedding ring on, loving Celine Dion |
Hate rap, told me where she get cake at |
She’s a part-time dancer, part time romancer |
Tries to be a mother when she gets a chance to |
Left her husband alone to raise they son, he’s in pampers |
Modeled for a year, got her bachelors degree |
33, recovering from plastic surgery |
Went from 34B to 36 double D |
Met her in San Diego at tha Super Bowl party |
Had the Henny, sipped it up with Terrell Davis |
MVP, we flicked it up from Sports Illustrated |
I was silked out, flossing with Stoute, he had the gators |
When she walked in, she lit up the room like Las Vegas |
Terrell said her man’s a fullback for the Raiders |
A drunk who’d fuck cheerleaders and wind up in the papers |
It’s easy to get the pussy, just don’t fall in love |
Next thing you know I’m hugged up with this bitch in the tub |
Palm Springs, Al Capone’s Suite washing her feet |
Is this love? |
Somebody’s wife fucking a thug |
Hitting it raw, tasting it, wilding out of my character |
Taping it, Tyra Banks face with Faiths lips |
Giving head like she knew me for years |
Pillow talk, she let out tears, told me bout her husbands affairs |
Millions she would get if his neck got slit |
She rolled the equality, then passed the la to me |
Told me 'bout her man’s life insurance policy |
He stays on the golf course, wears Le Coq Sport |
Evenings he drinks his wines on his private resort |
You can take him there, here go the keys, you can slip in the rear |
Chop a nigga up, yo, meet me somewhere |
So we can make more money, then you could ever see rapping |
Split the cash and move to Venezuela, adapting |
P-11's, ACP shells for blasting |
Caught him with his spanish maid |
He had a lighter with a can of spray, burning her legs |
She tied to the bed, sex S&M, sadomasochistic |
Sadistic, yoked her from behind, blew him out exsistance |
His maid cried «No», lucky she was blindfold |
Naked with mad burn marks all on her thighs, yo |
Twelve point five million, he kept his funds |
In the Lloyd’s of London, goes to his wife and his children |
Yo, I thought «What if shorty gets scared, electric chair’s all I envision |
All she’ll probably get is psychiatric supervision» |
I switched the plan, the maid flied to Switzerland |
Fake ID, forged his wife name, catch the next flight |
The same night, headed to Spain, nice game |
Now we’re back to where we meet again |
Blaze a 50, sit back in a drop-top Azure Bentley |
Of course with me, this chick who’d make Bobby divorce Whitney |
Top down, night air blow her hair |
Sky black, stars glow, the face on the moon stare |
Fastlane on the nine-five, honey laughs about the cash |
Took a blast out of her coke bag |
Snorted it, started screaming «Yo, we almost crashed!» |
Earlier I took the coke out, replaced it with crushed up glass |
Her head nodded down to her chest, slowly she fell asleep |
Overwhelmed by greed, put to death |