NAS - 1994 Freestyle Hip Hop God/Genius lyrics

rate me

Yo Nas

Yo the... the mic is open Yo

For the Stretch Armstrong Shooow hosted by Bobbitoooooo

Yo how should I start this?

How should I begin

To sin

Grab the microphone and my rhyme to win

Wheel of Fortune

Spin around

Check it out I'm not a rap clown

Get smacked down

By the fucking 4-pound

In your dome

Hit you with the nick-plate chrome

Queensbridge that's my motherfucking home

Off the top of the head yo I'm marked blunthead

Police... Police they want a nigga dead

But I'm not going out like that

Black I kick the actual facts

It's solar, cold as a polar bear

I swear words through... Will

But I'm a chill

Rhymes to kill

Niggas know the style

When I freak the profile

Aziactic child Yo

Grand Wiz you on the side of me

Get on the mic and bless the M.I.C.

Ayo It's the Wiz Kid

You know what I'm sayin

Ayo... But yo I'm a pass it off to my man 6-9

Kick it one time

Ayo 6-9 the true to life nigga

Yo my style is iller

Iller than Horrors Berry figure yo

Niggas don't fuck with the 6-Niner

Shorty watch your mouth

I smack you back in your vagina

Here some reefa to crack sunrise tequila

Killed the margarita, heres a fifty get some more chiba

The Ghetto Trooper

So spark up the blue buddha

My thoughts stay nasty like an underground sewer

To be the man you got to beat the man

It ain't nothing stompin over here unbuckle up my timbalands

You want static

Let's have it

Niggas who flow like the Atlantic

Will sink like the Titanic

Since birth I was thinking too fast

My first peoples beat the doctor when he smacked me on my ass

The Trigga-man

I'm crazy like Sam

My skill so I'll, like a white...

Check it out now

One for the money

Two for pussy and 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, my razor embraces, many faces

Your telephone blowin, black stitches or fat shoelaces

Peoples are petrol, dramatic automatic fo'-fo' 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, hustlin brothers who keep the same rank

Pumpin for somethin, some uprise, plus some fail

Judges hangin niggaz, uncorrect bails, for direct sales

My intellect prevails from a hangin cross with nails

I reinforce the frail, with lyrics that's real

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

But chill bless the microphone and say peace

Those who there, kick the microphone in your hand

Kick the flim-fam

One Two

Grab the microphone

And I'm a rock it up right for my man Jungle

Dwelling in the jungle

Where must we go

Where must we wonder

Deep out the skies

Comes the M.C. Nas

Not to surprise, but to civilize

All the dumb man

Wonderin around the streets

Listening to a nigga rapping on fly beats

I just kick the mad Philly style

Get buckwild

Cause you know my style

I could run a word

Kick it to a herb

Make him turn into a rich man

Increase the plan

The master plan

Yo I'm buggin out

Cause the weed got me going, plus the Gin is stout

Grand Wizard Yo you my physical

Why don't you grab the microphone and make the song miserable

It's the G- the G- the G- the G- the Wiz

I know that I go jus go get biz

Runnin out with my man Nasty on the side of me

My man 6-9, you know we not hiding G

I am the man that break it down

Break it on down, cause I'm from the town... I got...

Queensbridge, in back of me

The tec and everything I'm coming strapped G.

It's like that...

Check it out uh, huh

Check it out ya'll

Money, and Murder, Money and Murder

The sick shit you heard coming from money, fucking...

My swerve, the words are poetic...

I sound energetic, when I'm blunted or "Moet-ed"

My microphone's upsetted

Cause I sound crazzzy

Now, you know never lazzzy

Yo, I'm gonna get all the cash I can

Even if I gotta shoot a policeman

Walk in the church and snatch your fucking...

Na I can't be flipping like that

Cause you niggas try to jock the style...

But I left that shit, to get new shit, to flow like the Nile

Now you can't catch up G...

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

I keep getting Newer...

Can't step to A...

Nigga from the Bridge

So you keep that shit and Immaflip the script Next Ye-ar

And my real name is Nas-ir...

Can't spell it, cause I say it too Cle-ar

The alphabet is not enough letters to use

Cause when it comes to mics, I bruise

I just go, with the magical mystic flow

Niggas don't know that's word to my man Bo

I get Illmatic with the style that's insane

Coming out a fucking murderous brain

Grand Wizard, "Please take this mic from me"...

Before I bug out and wind up D.A.E.D.

I mean D.E.A.D.

I'm buggin out...