Originally Posted by cartune
Nas brags all the freakin time he just does it with crazy methaphors
Ding Ding.
Even if they indicted Jacob
Forensics, Paramedics carry cowards off
Defibrillators shock to your chest, try to cough
They die and hit Hell from an iron
I'm flyin', wire or cell, I'm paid from this $+#$
Got !@%*%*! high as hell, and they %*%%%!' like AIDS don't exist
They get sent to your hotel, a maid and $+#$
Put a barrel in a capo mouth, 'til his scalp come out
You a kid, you don't live what you rap about
King poetic, too many haters to count
Too much paper to count, QB !!%%#!
From crack pushers to Lac' pushers and ambushers
And morticians to fortresses, case-dismisses
Laced in riches, cake ridiculous
From nickel and dimin; to trickin; them diamonds
Vegas, places in Switzerland
From non-blastin; to auto, I don't have to blast mine
They blast mine, black nine, you flatline
My cash climb, buy rare art
Antique pieces, Mona Lisa's, own no leases
Five-star restaurant eaters; don't forget who your peeps is
'Sposed to dine with you, sip that good wine with you
Only if they grind with you - or slang for ya
Seen $@$@%+ live, laugh, party, and die in that very same corner
Pretty girls glance at us, status unconceivable
Private planes landed out in Teterboro, weed I twirl
Once even gave me a phobia
That I be in a spot trapped like Madame Zenobia's
With this kid eyein' my Rolly, y'all
Way before The Firm, like back in the day
Nas was the first New York $$@%% rappin' with Dre
So of course I got a track to bring it back to your face
The one kid that would've been Aftermath that got away
But we still get together like every several years
to sprinkle, a little bit of Heaven for your ears
Relax sippin' Calico in Rio, stupid @*+%*%@
Low-key, know G's, but it's still Gucci luggage
I love Cape Cod, and watchin' fly !@%*%*! with grey eyes
wrestle in a tub of KY to get my day by
I like to celebrate, why? - 'cause I can vision
collages and images of my lies with no regret to hate
So every breath I take, is all about the rules
It's hard for you to breathe like you at high altitude
So crack the Patron, it's on heathens, The God's back
Hard body, Mr. Jones never leavin'
Not saying he doesnt lyrically slaughter these tracks but duke is bragging. This is just off "Hip Hop is Dead" I can get more if needed