Текст песни The Stretch Armstrong and Bobbito Show on WKCR October 28, 1993 (Nas) с переводом

How should I start this?

How should I begin, to sin?

Grab the microphone and my rhymes’ll win

Wheel of Fortune, spin, around

Check it out, I’m not a rap clown

Get smacked down by the fuckin' four pound

In your dome

Hit you with the nick plate chrome

Queensbridge, thats my motherfuckin' home

Off the top of my head, yo, I’m a blunt head

Police… Police want a nigga dead

But, I’m not going out like that black

I kick the actual facts in so low

Cold as a Polar Bear, I swear, word to Will

But I’mma chill, rhymes’ll kill

Niggas know the style when I freak the profile

Asiatic Child, yo

Grand Wizard on the side of me

Yo, Get on the mic and bless the M-I-C

But I’mma pass it off to my man Six-Nine

Kick it one time

Hey, Yo, Six-Nine a true to life nigga

Yo, my style is iller, iller than Halle Berry’s figure

Niggas don’t fuck with the Six-Niner

Shorty watch your mouth, I smack you back in your vagina

Heres to reaper crack and sunrise tequila

Kill the margarita heres a 50 get some more cheaper

The ghetto trooper, so sparred up the booth buddha

My thoughts stay nasty like the underground sewage

To be the man you gotta beat the man

It ain’t nothing, so start come here but nothin' mark my timberlands

You want static? Lets have it knuckles will flow like the Atlantic

But sink like the Titanic

Since birth I was thinking too fast, my first beef was with the doctor

When he smacked me on the ass

The trigger man, I’m crazy like Sam

My skills so Ill like a with a white chick with a suntan

One for the money

Two for pussy and foreign cars

Three for Alize, niggas deceased or behind bars

I rap divine, God, 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, my razor embraces, many faces

Your telephone blowing, black stitches or fat shoelaces

Peoples are petro, dramatic automatic .44 I let blow

And back down po-po when I’m vexed so

My pen taps the paper then my brain’s blank

I see dark streets, hustling brothers who keep the same rank

Pumping for something, some’ll prosper, some fail

Judges hanging niggas, uncorrect bails for direct sales

My intellect prevails from a hanging cross with nails

I reinforce the frail, with lyrics that’s real

Word to Christ, a disciple on streets, trifle on beats

But, Chill! Place the microphone and say peace

So Sudan, take the microphone in your hand

Kick the flim flam

Queensbridge, when will the drama ever cease?

I like to say peace Willie and rest in peace

A cool brother who’s all about justice

I still can’t understand how he left us

Well… he’s gone and life goes on you know

We had a crew but one by one we go

Memories of his face that was full of joy

Rock-a Rock-a bye Rock-a bye homeboy

Reminiscing with the brothers standing on the block

Never talk a lot, never was a big shot

It’s so hard to say goodbye a sad song

And damn I can’t believe my man’s gone

Digging back in the days when we used to laugh

Now its a memory that’s haunted from the past

Poor Willy its a shame how the ghetto got him

And word is bond — I wanna cry when I think about him

Three bullets to his back on his own block

Not a way to go, killed by the buckshot

Queensbridge wake and up and smell the air

And stop killin' like a villain, like you don’t care

Remember Willie and times we had with joy

Rock-a Rock-a bye Rock-a bye homeboy

Rock-a Rock-a bye Rock-a bye homeboy

Rock-a Rock-a bye

My skills are ill like the prez with a plan

My brothers run from Sudan then the Ku-Klux-Klan

Like a kamikaze, Sadaam Hussein then won

Feel the buns of a nun, put tricks for funds and chill

I slow a verse so you can understand

I kill rappers more freaky than a motherfuckin' a Mic Man

And when it comes to a battle

I stand out tall like the man who played the man on The White Shadow

To my man Jungle

Dwelling in the jungle

Where must we go?

Where must we wander

Deep out the skies come the MC Nas

Not to surprise, but to civilize

Yo, the dumb men wandering around the streets

Listenin' to a nigga rappin' on fly beats

I just kicked a mad philly style

Get bucked wild cause you know my style

I could run a word, kick it to a herb

Make 'em turn into a rich man

Increase the plan, the master plan

Yo, I’m buggin' out cause the weed got me buggin'

Plus the Guinness Stout

Grand Wizard yo, you my physical

Why don’t you mic the mic, make the microphone miserable

It’s cuisine, the G the Wiz (?)

You know our culture gone get Biz

I got my man Nasty on the side of me

My man Six-Nine, you know we’re not hotter G

I am the man that’ll break it down

I’ll break all down cuz I got the sound

I got Queensbridge in the back of me

The Tec and everything, I’m coming strapped G

Money and murder, money and murder

The sick shit you heard comin' from my motherfuckin' my swerve

The words are poetic, I sound energetic

When I’m blunted or Moet’d

My microphone’s upsetted cause I’m crazy

Now you know, never lazy

Yo, I’m gonna get all the cash I can

Don’t give a fuck if I gotta shoot a policeman

Pluckin' a church and snatch a fuckin'… nah can’t be flippin' like that

Cause you niggas try to jock the style

But I left that shit to get the new shit, float like the now

Now you can’t catch up G

Cause I got the new styles on the M-I-C

I keep gettin' newer, can’t step to her

Nigga from the Bridge, so you keep that shit

And I’mma flip the script next year

And my real name is Nasir

Can’t spell it cause I say it too clear

The alphabets are not enough words or letters to use

When it comes to mics I bruise

I just go, with the magical mystic flow

Niggas don’t know, that’s word to the man Bo

I get Illmatic with the style that’s insane

Comin' outta fuckin' murderous brain

Grand Wizard, please take this Mic from me

Before I bug the fuck out and end up D-E-A-D