(feat. The Game)


[Nas]

Dre, he a Compton-Compton O.G.

Nas, he a QB-QB true G

Do the history



Way before The Firm, like back in the day

Nas was the first New York nigga rappin' with Dre

So of course I got a track to bring it back to your face

The one kid that would've been Aftermath that got away

But we still get together like every several years

to sprinkle, a little bit of Heaven for your ears

Relax sippin' Calico in Rio, stupid fuckers

Low-key, know G's, but it's still Gucci luggage

I love Cape Cod, and watchin' fly bitches with grey eyes

wrestle in a tub of KY to get my day by

I like to celebrate, why? - 'cause I can vision

collages and images of my lies with no regret to hate

So every breath I take, is all about the rules

It's hard for you to breathe like you at high altitude

So crack the Patron, it's on heathens, The God's back

Hard body, Mr. Jones never leavin'



[Chorus #1]

Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders

Make that cake, cop two five fivers

Pimps and players, platinum diamonds

East to West Coast we riders



[Chorus #2: Nas (The Game)]

He a Compton-Compton O.G.

(Mix that with a QB-QB true G)

(What you got's) A concoction of some different ghetto blocks

(West Coast kill the tracks) East Coast gunshots



[The Game]

1995, eleven years from the day

I'm in the record shop with choices to make

"Illmatic" on the top shelf, "The Chronic" on the left homie

Wanna cop both but only got a twenty on me

So fuck it, I stole both, spent the twenty on a dub sack

Ripped the package off "Illmatic" and bumped that

For my niggaz it was too complex when Nas rhymed

I was the only Compton nigga with a "New York State of Mind"

Inside the dope house bottlin' up sherm, bangin' The Firm

Dre was king then so I waited my turn

Fast forward, now I'm makin 'em burn

Ended my peers careers, hollered at Nas, a hard lesson was learned

So I reconciled my differences like he did with Jigga

I stopped beefin' with niggaz, 'cause I'm "Ether" to niggaz

Comb the earth 'til there's no one left

"If I Ruled the World" I summons all you weak rap niggaz to death



[Chorus: Nas (The Game)]

He a Compton-Compton O.G.

(Mix that with a QB-QB true G)

(What you got's) A concoction of some different ghetto blocks

(West Coast kill the tracks) East Coast gunshots



[Nas]

Yo, the Jordans sportin'

Come off the dice game with a fortune walkin', you a walkin' coffin'

The musket I tucked it, you bluff it I bust it

You're sideways talkin', so I lay often

I wait patient, to duct tape hatin'

Fuck ass niggaz, get bucked ass niggaz

Pluck ashes - of Cuban cigars, you foolin' with Nas

That's my name and I came with Rugers this time

And if I'm sane that "Soul Plane" movie's the bomb

Word to my mom's name tattooed to my arm

You can't revolve me, embalm me, calm me or harm me

Rob me or dodge these bullets I'm bustin'

See that's malarky you yappin'

I open up the tripod to put the gatling on, and I start clappin'

Nasty man, from baggin' grams and runnin' from cops

to a mill' on the hand, a mill' on the watch, I'm fuckin' with Doc



[Chorus #1]

Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders

Make that cake, cop two five fivers

Pimps and players, platinum diamonds

East to West Coast we ridin'



[Chorus #2: Nas (The Game)]

He a Compton-Compton O.G.

(Mix that with a QB-QB true G)

(What you got's) A concoction of some different ghetto blocks

(West Coast kill the tracks) East Coast gunshots