NAS - Westwood Classic Freestyle lyrics

rate me

Foreign cars

Three for Alize niggaz 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

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

I keep a gem-star razor under my tongue... and near my gums

When I'm not strapped... blow just before you cock your glocc back

Touch your temple, leave you leaking, while I'm speaking

The shit that I be freaking, gives me papers, while I'm sleeping... G

Walk around mega hard, like wateva God...

You could'ntcount how many niggas my bretta scarred

I light the marijuana 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 fuck

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 niggas... Word Up

A sing-sing, fuck 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 niggas with my shit in ya tape recorder

It Goes On, Word Is Bond... Word Is Bond... Lettin Nas Nas be Born... With Westwood

Yea

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 motherfucking 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