[Verse 1]
|
At times I window watch at the Wynn hotel
|
Lots of thinking happens in life, will I win or fail?
|
Mind of a shooter, CFO also
|
Ethiopian food flown in, it¡¯s unlawful
|
Money is attractive, honey dress strapless
|
Agent Provocateur underwear: she¡¯s classic
|
Stroll up in the party: titanium black car
|
Romanian ladies like Casablanca, Casbah
|
¡®Cept we in the VIP area, that¡¯s ours
|
You know the real rap gods, typical trap star turned rap star
|
These old heads got stories, the days they was kings
|
I pray secret indictments don¡¯t take away their dreams
|
You 16, you could do 20, come home young
|
Catch 20 years when you 40? Holmes, you¡¯re done
|
What have we become? Rap stars from trap stars
|
Black gods to Ansars to Sunnis back to goonies
|
A 360 in the streets real grizzly
|
Shooters is cold, kid, the old shit was learning
|
Student enrollment to focus, yet hooligans roll with
|
Toasters to pop your medullas off of your shoulders
|
This ain¡¯t the Truman Show; it¡¯s the human show
|
Ask the F.B.I. agent at his cubicle
|
Chewing on his pencil eraser with intents to erase you
|
It¡¯s U.S.A. against the gangsta, where¡¯s the love?
|
|
[Cocaine 80s]
|
Love, I¡¯ll trade you love
|
I¡¯ve traded fire with you long enough
|
Is that all you brung? It¡¯s not love
|
That¡¯s fucked up, but I saved your soul
|
Roll that up
|
|
[Nas]
|
Sometimes I sit on the bench just to watch the game
|
Feet on cement, there ain¡¯t a mobster living I could name
|
Who made it out rich, in his absence I do not proclaim
|
To not have a heart like wild animals not tamed
|
Maybe just a typical thug nigga was my rank
|
¡®Cept I had a vision above niggas, what I think
|
It¡¯s crazy how many brothers come where I come from
|
Some made it out big, some dead, some unsung
|
Shots for soldiers on 23 hours lock-up
|
Younger generation, they want to mimic and mock us
|
Laughing, separating themselves like they not us, like
|
¡°Cops¡¯ll look at you like they look at me? That¡¯s preposterous¡±
|
Ain¡¯t it gangsta how your man made it? I¡¯m humble
|
One gun, one crazy ass nigga, that¡¯s Jungle
|
Now we having babies, cause growing up it was just us
|
No uncles or cousins to fight with us, we was fucked up
|
But still it was beautiful, the love is mutual
|
Even though me and Jung ain¡¯t show up to your funeral
|
I hold your son hand, tell him he the man, we love you
|
Your pops was king, you have a whole lot to live up to
|
The G is in your genes, already you tuck
|
Inherit your dad¡¯s swag, it¡¯s George Jefferson¡¯s strut
|
Stay flyest, they gon¡¯ want to know what in your diet
|
Don¡¯t be surprised if they want to check your shit and your vomit
|
Tell them you let it marinate, they swear you made them a promise
|
No matter what they do, you just stay a man of honor
|
I¡¯m a street corner nigga, New York Knicks loyalist
|
Corona sipper, pass it out, might blow it with you
|
It ain¡¯t the Truman show; it¡¯s the human show
|
Ask the F.B.I. agent at his cubicle
|
Chews on his pencil eraser with intents to erase you
|
Young brother go and get your paper, I got love
|
|
[Cocaine 80s]
|
Love, I¡¯ll trade you love
|
I¡¯ve traded fire with you long enough
|
Is that all you brung? It¡¯s not love
|
That¡¯s fucked up, but I saved your soul
|
Roll that up
|
|
-----------------
|
Where's the Love
|
Nas |