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NAS

Memory Lane (Sittin' In Da Park)

  hip-hop  rap  hip hop  east coast rap  new york
877 3 часа назад

Текст песни NAS - Memory Lane (Sittin' In Da Park)

NAS - Memory Lane (Sittin' In Da Park) слова песни



Текст песни NAS - Memory Lane (Sittin' In Da Park)




Check that shit) Aight fuck that shit, word word Fuck that other shit, youknowhatI'msayin? We gon' do a little somethin like this, yaknahmsayin? (Is they up on this?) Keep it on and on and on and on and.. KnowhatI'msayin? Big Nas, Grand Wizard, God what it is? (What it is like?) Hah, knowhatI'msayin?( ) Yo go 'head, do that shit nigga[Nas]I rap for listeners, blunt heads, fly ladies and prisonersHenessey holders and old school niggaz, then I be dissin aunofficial that smoke woolie thaiI dropped out of Kooley High, gassed up by a cokehead cutie pieJungle survivor, fuck who's the liverMy man put the battery in my back, a differencem from EnergizerSentence begins indented.. with formalityMy duration's infinite, moneywise or physiologyPoetry, that's a part of me, retardedly bopI drop the ancient manifested hip-hop, straight off the blockI reminisce on park jams, my man was shot for his sheep coatChildhood lesson make me see him drop in my weed smokeIt's real, grew up in trife life, did times or white linesThe hype vice, murderous nighttimes, and knife fights invite crimesChill on the block with Cog-nac, hold strapwith my peeps that's into drug money, market into rapNo sign of the beast in the blue Chrysler, I guess that means peaceFor niggaz no sheisty vice to just snipe yaStart off the dice-rollin mats for craps to cee-lo With sidebets, I roll a deuce, nothin below (Peace God!)Peace God -- now the shit is explainedI'm takin niggaz on a trip straight through memory laneIt's like that y'all .. it's like that y'all .. it's like that y'allChorus: repeat scratches 4X";Now let me take a trip down memory lane"; -> BizMarkie ";Comin outta Queensbridge";[Nas]One for the moneyTwo for pussy and foreign carsThree for Alize niggaz deceased or behind barsI rap divine Gods check the prognosis, is it real or showbiz?My window faces shootouts, drug overdosesLive amongst no roses, only the drama, for realA nickel-plate is my fate, my medicine is the ganjaHere's my basis, my razor embraces, many facesYour telephone blowin, black stitches or fat shoelacesPeoples are petrol, dramatic automatic fo'-fo' I let blowand back down po-po when I'm vexed somy pen taps the paper then my brain's blankI see dark streets, hustlin brothers who keep the same rankPumpin for somethin, some uprise, plus some failJudges hangin niggaz, uncorrect bails, for direct salesMy intellect prevails from a hangin cross with nailsI reinforce the frail, with lyrics that's realWord to Christ, a disciple of streets, trifle on beatsI decifer prophecies through a mic and say peace.I hung around the older crews while they sling smack to dingbats




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