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| [Nas]
Damn! Look how muh-fuckers use a nigga
Just use me for whatever the fuck they want
I don't get to say shit
Just grab me, just do what the fuck they want
Sell me, throw me away
Niggaz just don't give a fuck about a nigga like me right?
Like I'm a f... I'm a gun, shit
It's like I'm a motherfuckin gun
I can't believe this shit....
Word up.. (word up..)
I seen some cold nights and bloody days
They grab and me bullets spray
They use me wrong so I sing this song 'til this day
My body is cold steel for real
I was made to kill, that's why they keep me concealed
Under car seats they sneak me in clubs
Been in the hands of mad thugs
They feed me when they load me with mad slugs
Seventeen precisely, one in my head
They call me Desert Eagle, semi-auto with lead
I'm seven inches four pounds, been through so many towns
Ohio to Little Rock to Canarsie, livin harshly
Beat up and battered, they pull me out
I watch as niggaz scattered, makin me kill
But what I feel it never mattered
When I'm empty I'm quiet, findin myself fiendin to be fired
A broken safety, niggaz place me in shelves
under beds, so I beg for my next owner to be a thoroughbred
Keep me full up with hollow heads
How you like me now? I go blaow
It's that shit that moves crowds makin every ghetto foul
I might have took your first child
Scarred your life, crippled your style
I gave you power
I made you buck wild
[Nas]
Always I'm in some shit, my abdomen is the clip
The barrel is my dick, uncircumcised
Pull my skin back and cock me, I bust off when they unlock me
Results of what happens to niggaz shock me
I see niggaz bleedin runnin from me in fear, stunningly tears
fall down the eyes of these so-called tough guys, for years
I've been used in robberies, givin niggaz heart to follow me
Placin peoples in graves, funerals made cause I was sprayed
I was laid in a shelf, with a grenade
Met a wrecked-up tech with numbers on his chest that say
Five-two-oh-nine-three-eight-five and zero
Had a serial defaced, hopin one day, police would place
where he came from, a name or some sort of person to claim him
Tired of murderin, made him wanna be a plain gun
But yo I had some other plans, like the next time the beef is on
I make myself jam right in my owner's hand
How you like me now? I go blaow
It's that shit that moves crowds makin every ghetto foul
I might have took your first child
Scarred your life, crippled your style
I gave you power
I made you buck wild
[Nas]
Yo, weeks went by and I'm surprised
Still stuck in the shelf with all the things that an outlaw hides
Besides me it's bullets, two vests and then a nine
There's a grenade in a box, and that tech that kept cryin
Cause he ain't been cleaned in a year, he's rusty as clear
He's bout to fall to pieces, cause of his murder career
Yo, I can hear somebody comin in, open the shelf
His eyes bubblin, he said, "It was on"
I felt his palm troubled him shakin
Somebody stomped him out, his dome was achin
He placed me on his waist, the moment I've been waitin
My creation was for blacks to kill blacks
It's gats like me that accidentally, go off, makin niggaz memories
But this time, it's done intentionally
He walked me outside, saw this cat
Cocked me back, said, "Remember me?"
He pulled the trigger but I held on, it felt wrong
Knowing niggaz is waiting in hell for 'im
He squeezed harder, I didn't budge, sick of the blood
Sick of the thugs, sick of wrath of the, next man's grudge
What the other kid did was pull out, no doubt
A newer me in better shape, before he lit out, he lead the chase
My owner fell to the floor, his wig split so fast
I didn't know he was hit, it's over with
Heard mad niggaz screamin, niggaz runnin, cops is comin
Now I'm happy, until I felt somebody else grab me
Damn.........
Nas - I Gave You Power | | |
| [Verse One: Nas]
Rappers I monkey flip 'em with the funky rhythm I be kickin
Musician, inflictin composition
of pain I'm like Scarface sniffin cocaine
Holdin a M-16, see with the pen I'm extreme, now
Bulletholes left in my peepholes
I'm suited up in street clothes
Hand me a nine and I'll defeat foes
Y'all know my steelo with or without the airplay
I keep some E&J, sittin bent up in the stairway
Or either on the corner bettin Grants with the celo champs
Laughin at baseheads, tryin to sell some broken amps
G-Packs get off quick, forever niggaz talk shit
Remeniscing about the last time the Task Force flipped
Niggaz be runnin through the block shootin
Time to start the revolution, catch a body head for Houston
Once they caught us off guard, the Mac-10 was in the grass and
I ran like a cheetah with thoughts of an assassin
Pick the Mac up, told brothers, "Back up," the Mac spit
Lead was hittin niggaz one ran, I made him backflip
Heard a few chicks scream my arm shook, couldn't look
Gave another squeeze heard it click yo, my shit is stuck
Try to cock it, it wouldn't shoot now I'm in danger
Finally pulled it back and saw three bullets caught up in the chamber
So now I'm jetting to the building lobby
and it was filled with children probably couldn't see as high as I be
(So whatchu sayin?) It's like the game ain't the same
Got younger niggaz pullin the triggers bringing fame to they name
and claim some corners, crews without guns are goners
In broad daylight, stickup kids, they run up on us
Fo'-fives and gauges, Macs in fact
Same niggaz'll catch a back to back, snatchin yo' cracks in black
There was a snitch on the block gettin niggaz knocked
So hold your stash until the coke price drop
I know this crackhead, who said she gotta smoke nice rock
And if it's good she'll bring ya customers in measuring pots, but yo
You gotta slide on a vacation
Inside information keeps large niggaz erasin and they wives basin
It drops deep as it does in my breath
I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death
Beyond the walls of intelligence, life is defined
I think of crime when I'm in a New York state of mind
[Verse Two: Nas]
Be havin dreams that I'ma gangster -- drinkin Moets, holdin Tecs
Makin sure the cash came correct then I stepped
Investments in stocks, sewein up the blocks
to sell rocks, winnin gunfights with mega cops
But just a nigga, walking with his finger on the trigger
Make enough figures until my pockets get bigger
I ain't the type of brother made for you to start testin
Give me a Smith and Wessun I'll have niggaz undressin
Thinkin of cash flow, buddah and shelter
Whenever frustrated I'ma hijack Delta
In the P.J.'s, my blend tape plays, bullets are strays
Young bitches is grazed each block is like a maze
full of black rats trapped, plus the Island is packed
From what I hear in all the stories when my peoples come back, black
I'm livin where the nights is jet black
The fiends fight to get crack I just max, I dream I can sit back
and lamp like Capone, with drug scripts sewn
Or the legal luxury life, rings flooded with stones, homes
I got so many rhymes I don't think I'm too sane
Life is parallel to Hell but I must maintain
and be prosperous, though we live dangerous
cops could just arrest me, blamin us, we're held like hostages
It's only right that I was born to use mics
and the stuff that I write, is even tougher than dykes
I'm takin rappers to a new plateau, through rap slow
My rhymin is a vitamin, held without a capsule
The smooth criminal on beat breaks
Never put me in your box if your shit eats tapes
The city never sleeps, full of villians and creeps
That's where I learned to do my hustle had to scuffle with freaks
I'ma addict for sneakers, twenties of buddah and bitches with beepers
In the streets I can greet ya, about blunts I teach ya
Inhale deep like the words of my breath
I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death
I lay puzzle as I backtrack to earlier times
Nothing's equivalent, to the new york state of mind
Nas - New York State Of Mind | | |
| Once upon a time, not long ago
When people wore pajamas and lived life slow
Where laws were stern, and justice stood
And people were behaving, like they ought to, good
There lived a little boy who was mislead
By another little boy, and this is what he said
Me and you Ty, we gonna make some cash
Robbing old folks and making the dash
They did the job, money came with ease
But one couldn't stop, it's like he had a disease
He robbed another and another, and a sister and brother
Tried to rob a man who was a DT undercover
The cop grabbed his arm, he started acting eratic
He said "keep still boy, no need for static"
Punched him in his belly and he gave him a slap
But little did he know, the little boy was strapped
The kid pulled out a gun, he said "why'd you hit me?"
The barrel was set straight for the cop's kidney
The cop got scared, the kid he starts to figure
I'll do years if I pull this trigger
So he, cold dashed, and ran around the block
Cop radios in to another lady cop
He ran by a tree, there he saw this sister
Shot for the head, he shot back but he missed her
Looked round good and from expectations
He decided he'd head for the subway stations
But, she was coming and he made he left
He was running top speed til he was out of breath
Knocked an old man down and swore he killed him
Then he made his move to a abandoned building
Ran up the stairs up to the top floor
Opened up a door there, guess who he saw
Dave, the dope feen, shootin' dope
Who don't know the meaning of water nor soap
He said "I need bullets, hurry up run"
The dope feen brought back a spankin' shotgun
He went outside, but there was cops all over
Then he dipped into a car, a stolen Nova
Raced up the block doing 83
Crashed into a tree, near a university
Escaped alive, though the car was batterted
Rat-a-tat-tattered and all the cops scattered
Ran out of bullets and he still had static
Grabbed the pregnant lady and pulled out the automatic
Pointed at her head, he said the gun was full of lead
He told the cops, "back off, or honey here's dead"
Deep in his heart, he knew he was wrong
So he let the lady go, and he starts to run on
Sirens sounded, he seemed astounded
And, before long, the little boy got surrounded
He dropped his gun, so went the glory
And this is the way I have to end this story
He was only 17, in a mad man's dream
The cops shot the kid, I still hear him scream
This ain't funny, so don't you dare laugh
Just another case about the wrong path
Straight and narrow, or your soul gets cast
Goodnight
-Slick Rick | | |
| Someone got Own3d!
[All artistic credit goes to Henry Sherman]
[Photographic and art supply sponsorship provided by myself John Parada]
(no immigrants were hurt during this photo shoot)
Its thethe F.O.B.o.l.o.u.s
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| Boring Summer.... | | |
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