Brooklyn get paper, tote big things
We chase nikkas around they own ball game
Ball game nikka, it's over for you lames
Gimme back the chain, it's over for you dames
fukk y'all broads
Didn’t they ever tell you don’t fukk with a man’s family They'll fukk with y'all's?
Kidnap mine?
nikka
I will click-clack push your wig back further than Tyra Banks' hairline
Your bank versus mine
If you're ballin’, nikka what I’m doing can’t be defined
The Joneses can’t keep up
Maybe my nikka Nas, but I got stronger after Ether
I dip, squat, then post up with the toast up
I bring beef to a closure, know something?
From Coxsackie to Folsom, I'm loathsome
I scream out, "fukk the world," then I throw something
nikkas scheming hard, but fukk it, it's the God
I leave bullets lodged, leave you leaning on your broad
The R pump leave you fukked up in your car
Slumped, Kennedy-style with your memory out