Nas's verse on Life's A Bitch was already mentioned & it is a great one but AZ tore it up as well...
Visualizin the realism of life and actuality
Fuck who`s the baddest a person`s status depends on salary
And my mentality is, money orientated
I`m destined to live the dream for all my peeps who never made it
cause yeah, we were beginners in the hood as five percenters
But somethin must of got in us cause all of us turned to sinners
Now some, restin in peace and some are sittin in San Quentin
Others such as myself are tryin to carry on tradition
Keepin the effervescence of street ghetto essence inside us
Cause it provides us with the proper insight to guide us
Even though, we know somehow we all gotta go
but as long as we leavin thievin we`ll be leavin with some kind of dough
so, until that day we expire and turn to vapors
me and my capers'll be somewhere stackin plenty papers
Keepin it real, packin steel, gettin high
Cause life`s a bitch and then you die
Jeru the Damaja on Return of the Crooklyn Dodgers:
Listen cause for your mind I got the right nutrition
We keeps it hard like fat asses and cases of Heineken
Here in Brooklyn, home of the warrior and villain
Trife type chicks Top Billin's, the anthem
Rastas smoke marijuana
Enterprising businessmen shoot dice on the corner
Excuse me while I light my spliff but some choose to sip
So bullets hit brains, when bottles hit lips
Clips whatever happend to 38 special
Now it's Desert Eagles, government issue
Probably the same one that killed Noriega
Chips that powered nuclear bombs, power my Sega
Subliminal hypnotism and colonialism
leaves most ni**az dead or in prison
In Crook-land, right hand cuts off the left hand
to spite the hand, jealous of the next man
So violent crimes, black on black plus mad crack to boot
Everybody can't rap, so most hustle and shoot
Make money money, get money take money
I can't understand that concept cause Jah rules everything around me
Fire burns the unjust like arson larsony
melt MC's with mental telepathy
With precision, we're slicin and dicin
Peace to the East New York, Perverted Monks, and Mike Tyson
Method Man on Four Seasons:
Now four corners, four seasons
Four MC's with four reasons to bring this game to its knees
And while you're down there, suck my dick
My whole motto is fuck it
Hit the smoke shop and blow my budget
MC's abusing my bitch, using my shit
I'm hanging off the roof with one hand, losing my grip
Now y'all don't wanna see me do that, now do you?
Go straight cuckoo and terrorize rap, do you?
I do my best work stressed out and under pressure
Deep inside the mind is where you'll find my buried treasure
I'm still wild, still Tical
Still gritty style, foul, crimi-niminal, individual
Sing a song a six street
Pocket full of chips
Too many rappers be on John Gotti's dick
Now this is something that we don't rehearse
Put that rap shit second, and hip-hop first
Of course, one of the all time greatest...Rakim on Eric B. For President:
I came in the door, i said it before
I never let the mic magnetize me no more
But it's biting me, fighting me, inviting me to rhyme
I can't hold it back, I'm looking for the line,
Taking off my coat, clearing my throat
My rhyme will be kicking it until I hit my last note
My mind'll range to find all kinds of ideas
Self-esteem makes it seem like a thought took years to build
But still say a rhyme after the next one
Prepared, never scared, I'll just bless one
And you know that I'm the soloist
So Eric B, make 'em clap to this
More later...
Visualizin the realism of life and actuality
Fuck who`s the baddest a person`s status depends on salary
And my mentality is, money orientated
I`m destined to live the dream for all my peeps who never made it
cause yeah, we were beginners in the hood as five percenters
But somethin must of got in us cause all of us turned to sinners
Now some, restin in peace and some are sittin in San Quentin
Others such as myself are tryin to carry on tradition
Keepin the effervescence of street ghetto essence inside us
Cause it provides us with the proper insight to guide us
Even though, we know somehow we all gotta go
but as long as we leavin thievin we`ll be leavin with some kind of dough
so, until that day we expire and turn to vapors
me and my capers'll be somewhere stackin plenty papers
Keepin it real, packin steel, gettin high
Cause life`s a bitch and then you die
Jeru the Damaja on Return of the Crooklyn Dodgers:
Listen cause for your mind I got the right nutrition
We keeps it hard like fat asses and cases of Heineken
Here in Brooklyn, home of the warrior and villain
Trife type chicks Top Billin's, the anthem
Rastas smoke marijuana
Enterprising businessmen shoot dice on the corner
Excuse me while I light my spliff but some choose to sip
So bullets hit brains, when bottles hit lips
Clips whatever happend to 38 special
Now it's Desert Eagles, government issue
Probably the same one that killed Noriega
Chips that powered nuclear bombs, power my Sega
Subliminal hypnotism and colonialism
leaves most ni**az dead or in prison
In Crook-land, right hand cuts off the left hand
to spite the hand, jealous of the next man
So violent crimes, black on black plus mad crack to boot
Everybody can't rap, so most hustle and shoot
Make money money, get money take money
I can't understand that concept cause Jah rules everything around me
Fire burns the unjust like arson larsony
melt MC's with mental telepathy
With precision, we're slicin and dicin
Peace to the East New York, Perverted Monks, and Mike Tyson
Method Man on Four Seasons:
Now four corners, four seasons
Four MC's with four reasons to bring this game to its knees
And while you're down there, suck my dick
My whole motto is fuck it
Hit the smoke shop and blow my budget
MC's abusing my bitch, using my shit
I'm hanging off the roof with one hand, losing my grip
Now y'all don't wanna see me do that, now do you?
Go straight cuckoo and terrorize rap, do you?
I do my best work stressed out and under pressure
Deep inside the mind is where you'll find my buried treasure
I'm still wild, still Tical
Still gritty style, foul, crimi-niminal, individual
Sing a song a six street
Pocket full of chips
Too many rappers be on John Gotti's dick
Now this is something that we don't rehearse
Put that rap shit second, and hip-hop first
Of course, one of the all time greatest...Rakim on Eric B. For President:
I came in the door, i said it before
I never let the mic magnetize me no more
But it's biting me, fighting me, inviting me to rhyme
I can't hold it back, I'm looking for the line,
Taking off my coat, clearing my throat
My rhyme will be kicking it until I hit my last note
My mind'll range to find all kinds of ideas
Self-esteem makes it seem like a thought took years to build
But still say a rhyme after the next one
Prepared, never scared, I'll just bless one
And you know that I'm the soloist
So Eric B, make 'em clap to this
More later...
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