Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Story Board, artist - Nas. Date of issue: 31.12.2002
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 |