Uh Uh huh You know what this is I'ma let 'em run around one more time I drop sumpin' on y'all It's like... it's like What's it like? My microphones and glock nines Black? I'm dipped in that The beats, my mash, jam you for the platinum you have Run it, the illest, watch me become it I'm here, and took it bowling, like straight to the wig Speak truth like kids, tell you what you don't know Kobe? Yeah, he's real with the flow Kick in the do' wavin' the flow-flow All you heard was stop, can't take the hits no more Ha, didn't know I had your block on SWAT? I'm CIA, y'all nuttin' but beat cops I rock like my ma's mean, name is ******* Place you on my A-fiend list and pay you 'cane Think you can handle? Not get stripped when you rock? Think again, you find you lost your mind and judgement My confidence, springs from watching y'all fall Aw, forced to hustle, rap in charge I'ma hop in your brain, tell you whatchu thinkin' Yes, I am speakin', but I ain't writin' So cold, I put the ice in nicest You too broke to pay attention My style is priceless [Kobe (Nas)] If you say murder that means I'm a (Thug Poet) If I say my mind kills that means I'm a (Thug Poet) If I say that I'm a flock that means I'm a (Thug Poet) And when I lay it down, it makes me a (Thug Poet) [Broady Boy] Thank the dudes for the gangs and tanks of booze Shanks and twos, it's the gangstas, Langston Hughes My poems' about broken homes and Jesus peaces **** is the Popes in Rome Poetical field, thug overtone, it's like what, yo? Bring it home, we both go gone Pre-cord thought flow in the sober zone My life style, chromosomes frost, hope to clone The crack lust, black dust, and the gat bust The claps, the lackluster, memoirs of the black hustler Condos, Beemers, bomb hoes, coke bags, toe tags, John Does Fiends skits them into the plane of day, as plain as day It's hard to reach, to smell God anyway Money, think backdrop payin' gray? Man, rubber-gripped on that rainy day Peep the way I came to play One aim at the game, reign and stay Every stain is straight from objective, insane 'Ey just don't know, I'm two ticks from blowing a hole through music But I'm more than pimp-whoring him for the street wise You met the ren Cuz I open 'neath in the ****, hydrogen Jam my eyes to skin, guide some of our wisest men Until the skies of sin I pray for the day we see you rise again Uh [Nas (Broady)] Thug Poet (Street analyst is this, the) Thug Poet (Hustlers bang out to) Thug Poet (Flows for your block, Hip-Hop) Thug Poet Thug Poet [50 Cent] Aiyyo, everybody know 50 ain't know how to act I run up on cats with gats and aluminum bats Y'all got fat while we starved, it's my turn ****, I done felt how a slug burned, I still won't learn ****** in the 'hood a-tell ya "50 crazy" I had your moms screamin' "They done shot my baby" Son, I yap your shine, I clap the nine, I slap you I'm that one of them ****** you wanna **** with I spit the **** that make ya keep listenin' Keep my wrists glistenin' I left ****** alone and they still think I'm dissin' 'em I'm on some new ****, S-Type baby blue **** ****** talk behind my back but don't do **** I ain't looking for love, duke, I'm looking for respect I leave you with options, like die or hit the deck I'm a thug poet, you know what I came for, the dough Clap-clap, y'all ****** get the **** on the floor, floor [Nas: Echoes to fade] Thug Poet
Uh Uh huh You know what this is I'ma let 'em run around one more time I drop sumpin' on y'all It's like... it's like What's it like? My microphones and glock nines Black? I'm dipped in that The beats, my mash, jam you for the platinum you have Run it, the illest, watch me become it I'm here, and took it bowling, like straight to the wig Speak truth like kids, tell you what you don't know Kobe? Yeah, he's real with the flow Kick in the do' wavin' the flow-flow All you heard was stop, can't take the hits no more Ha, didn't know I had your block on SWAT? I'm CIA, y'all nuttin' but beat cops I rock like my ma's mean, name is ******* Place you on my A-fiend list and pay you 'cane Think you can handle? Not get stripped when you rock? Think again, you find you lost your mind and judgement My confidence, springs from watching y'all fall Aw, forced to hustle, rap in charge I'ma hop in your brain, tell you whatchu thinkin' Yes, I am speakin', but I ain't writin' So cold, I put the ice in nicest You too broke to pay attention My style is priceless [Kobe (Nas)] If you say murder that means I'm a (Thug Poet) If I say my mind kills that means I'm a (Thug Poet) If I say that I'm a flock that means I'm a (Thug Poet) And when I lay it down, it makes me a (Thug Poet) [Broady Boy] Thank the dudes for the gangs and tanks of booze Shanks and twos, it's the gangstas, Langston Hughes My poems' about broken homes and Jesus peaces **** is the Popes in Rome Poetical field, thug overtone, it's like what, yo? Bring it home, we both go gone Pre-cord thought flow in the sober zone My life style, chromosomes frost, hope to clone The crack lust, black dust, and the gat bust The claps, the lackluster, memoirs of the black hustler Condos, Beemers, bomb hoes, coke bags, toe tags, John Does Fiends skits them into the plane of day, as plain as day It's hard to reach, to smell God anyway Money, think backdrop payin' gray? Man, rubber-gripped on that rainy day Peep the way I came to play One aim at the game, reign and stay Every stain is straight from objective, insane 'Ey just don't know, I'm two ticks from blowing a hole through music But I'm more than pimp-whoring him for the street wise You met the ren Cuz I open 'neath in the ****, hydrogen Jam my eyes to skin, guide some of our wisest men Until the skies of sin I pray for the day we see you rise again Uh [Nas (Broady)] Thug Poet (Street analyst is this, the) Thug Poet (Hustlers bang out to) Thug Poet (Flows for your block, Hip-Hop) Thug Poet Thug Poet [50 Cent] Aiyyo, everybody know 50 ain't know how to act I run up on cats with gats and aluminum bats Y'all got fat while we starved, it's my turn ****, I done felt how a slug burned, I still won't learn ****** in the 'hood a-tell ya "50 crazy" I had your moms screamin' "They done shot my baby" Son, I yap your shine, I clap the nine, I slap you I'm that one of them ****** you wanna **** with I spit the **** that make ya keep listenin' Keep my wrists glistenin' I left ****** alone and they still think I'm dissin' 'em I'm on some new ****, S-Type baby blue **** ****** talk behind my back but don't do **** I ain't looking for love, duke, I'm looking for respect I leave you with options, like die or hit the deck I'm a thug poet, you know what I came for, the dough Clap-clap, y'all ****** get the **** on the floor, floor [Nas: Echoes to fade] Thug Poet
