NAS lyrics : "Westwood Classic Freestyle"
Foreign cars
Three for Alize ^!$$%z deceased or behind bars
I rap divine Gods check the prognosis, is it real or showbiz?
My window faces shootouts, drug overdoses
Live amongst no roses, only the drama, for real
A nickel-plate is my fate, my medicine is the ganja
Here's my basis, razor embraces, many faces
Your telephone blowin, black stitches or fat shoelaces
Peoples are petrol, dramatic automatic fo'-fo' I let blow
Back down po-po when I'm vexed so
My pen taps the paper then my brain's blank
I see dark streets, hustlin brothers who keep the same rank
[Chorus: Nas]
It Goes On to the Break Of Dawn, Listening to Words, Knowledge, Word Is Bond
It Goes On to the Break Of Dawn, Listen to the Words, and the Knowledge
[Nas:]
I keep a gem-star razor under my tongue... and near my gums
When I'm not strapped... blow just before you @@#! your glocc back
Touch your temple, leave you leaking, while I'm speaking
The %#@! that I be freaking, gives me papers, while I'm sleeping... G
Walk around mega hard, like wateva God...
You could'ntcount how many ^!$$%s my bretta scarred
I light the !@!@&& smoke, and chicks
And posers that I'm smoking with
Could'nttake it, my ganja left emotionless
I leave your brain stuck
Giving hoes a plain $#&@
They call me Nasty, but I'm not with the strange stuff
When I'm drunk, I stagger right and lyrics with a dagger
Next stabber catchin reck, badder than a tec would had of...
Lefted struck, now whose next up...
I murder, send me to San Quentin and I'm lynching ^!$$%s... Word Up
A sing-sing, $#&@ is a hang, still is the same thing...
No... matter the cell blockNas will be named King
Slaughter... drinking head rock...
Forget water, peace to my ^!$$%s with my %#@! in ya tape recorder
[Chorus: Nas]
It Goes On, Word Is Bond... Word Is Bond... Lettin Nas Nas be Born... With Westwood
Yea
[Nas:]
Pardon the Curses, but just in the verses, when I...
Was a kid, I used to blow up the churches
But now, I got older, snatching purses
Walking around, I'm a nervous reck
What the heck?
Don't disrespect...
Cause if you do... you might get hit with the tec
Off the top of my head
Yes, I'm a blunthead
The F.I... F.B.I. want me dead
But yea... I might stutter
When I'm still crazy butter
Doing whatever you want
I'm from the gutter...
Queensbridge, where I live... New York City
Where it comes by, and the girls look pretty
Like my man Malakai said...
It goes on, Word Is Bond... till the end, my friend I wanna drive me a Benz...
I swear... and my mother$#&@ing real name is Nasir... Yea
It Goes On, Like Dat, It Don't Stop
I keep it real rocking that New York Hip Hop
Straight outta Queens, by all means
I chill with sess fiends, in Guess Jeans
Yes, Yes, It's On
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