Nas — The Stretch Armstrong and Bobbito Show on WKCR October 28 1993

[Nas] Aiyo, this is big Nas I wanna give a shout-out to my man Premo, you know? From Gang Starr, no doubt Lil' Dap, Jeru, Melachi, the whole crew (Foundation) Queensbridge Crew, forty busters, shorty busters Vernon Posse, Good Fellas, you know how that go My man Ill Will rest in peace forever, God Tragedy, MC Shan and the whole crew, you know how that go Marley Marl, and my man Big Bo locked up in the piece And my man Drawz, you know (Big Mayo chillin', loungin' at the crib, check it out now) [Bobbito] The, the mic is open, yo On the Stretch Armstrong showw, hosted by Bobbitooooooo [Verse 1: Nas] 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, that's 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 goin' out like that, black I kick the actual facts in solar 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 Get on the mic and bless the M-I-C [Grand Wizard] Ayio, but I'mma pass it off to my man Six-Nine Kick it one time [Verse 2: Six-Nine] 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 Here's the reefer, crack the Sunrise Tequila Kill the Margarita, here's a 50, get some more cheeba The ghetto trooper, so spark up the Bu-Buddha My thoughts'll stay nasty like the underground sewers To be the man, you gotta beat the man It ain't nothin' startin' over here but nothin' mark my Timberlands You want static? Let's have it Niggas who flow like the Atlantic will sink like the Titanic Since birth, I was thinkin' too fast My first beef was with the doctor when he smacked me on my ass The trigger man, I'm crazy like Sam My skill's so ill like a white chick with a suntan [Verse 3: Nas] Check it out now 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 blown, 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, hustlin' brothers who keep the same rank Pumpin' for somethin', some'll prosper, some fail Judges hangin' niggas, 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 So, Sudan, take the microphone in your hand Kick the flim flam [Sudan] So, check it out I'm gonna give a strong shout-out, this is to my man Will A little somethin' I done wrote up for my man Will It goes somethin' like this, it's called Rock-a-bye Homeboy Check it out [Verse 4: Sudan] Queensbridge, when will the drama ever cease? I'd 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 Reminiscin' with the brothers standin' on the block Never talked 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 Diggin' 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 the times we had with joy? Rock-a, Rock-a bye, Rock-a bye Homeboy Rock-a, Rock-a bye, Rock-a bye Homeboy Quensbridge style! Rock-a, Rock-a bye [Verse 5: Jungle] My skills are ill like the prez with a plan My brothers run from Sudan then the Ku-Klux-Klan Like a kamikaze, Saddam Hussein then won Feel the buns of a nun, put tricks for funds and chill (Wooo-ooooh) I spill a verse so you can understand I kill rappers off quicker than a motherfuckin' Mic Man And when it comes to a battle, I stand out tall Like the man who played the man on The White Shadow One two, one two [Nas] What you gonna do when the flavour's comin' after you? Grand Wizard, take my side Grab the microphone and I'mma rock it up like... [Verse 6: Nas] To my man Jungle, dwellin' 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 All the dumb men wanderin' around the streets Listenin' to a nigga rappin' on fly beats I just kick the mad Phillie style Get buckwild 'cause you know my style I could run a word, kick it to a herd 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 make, make the microphone miserable? [Verse 7: Grand Wizard] It's the G, the G, the G, the G, the Wiz You know that our culture's gone get theirs I got my man Nasty on the side of me My man Six-Nine, you know we're not hidin', G I am the man that'll break it down I'll break it all down 'cause I got the sound I got Queensbridge backin' me The Tec and everythin', I'm comin' strapped, G It's like that, check it out, uh huh [Verse 8: Nas] Yo, check it out, y'all 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 Moët'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 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 gettin' newer, can't step to a 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' out a fuckin' murderer's brain Grand Wizard, please take this mic from me Before I bug the fuck out and wind up D-A-E-D Wait, D-E-A-D, I'm buggin', fuck that shit [Various shout-outs]