Dead Presidents IV

[Produced by Ski, C-Sick & Young Guru] [Hook: Nas] I’m out for Presidents to represent me (Get Money) I'm out for presidents to represent me (Get Money) I'm out for presidents to represent me (Get Money) I'm out for dead fuckin' presidents to represent me [Verse 1] They call me Solomon Kane, I Wallow in Pain, tomorrow I follow the chain, I tolerate Caine, the sorrow But you can call me Kane for short, cause I both sell and spit caine for sport The painful sort, you know who I am You know that I will die for my man’s So don’t fight us, cause were righteous, and you’ll lie in the sands Power’s essential, but money makes the world go round The dollar bill is what will make your girl go down You fuck with me then I’ll do shit the Cali way The Glock makes art, and it’ll look like Salvador Dali sprayed It’s saturday, Saint latter’s day, stole cash astray, I blast away, his brain matter sprayed I had to sell crack on the streets to get back on my feet And if you wack on this beat, you’ll get the blast from my heat I’m so slick that I go out in public pickin’ chickens And when it’s gone, the feds think I’m a fuckin’ magician Fuck whatcha wishin’, just wait until the drama dies Cause if you start poppin’ stupid shit then you’ll be beggin’ fo a homicide Enemies see me through the Llama’s eyes (Pop Pop) we cop Glocks and laugh when we hear yo Mama’s cries Ain’t no need to dramatize nobody could change me Fuck tulips, your ass pickin’ flowers you’ll be pushin’ up daisies I'm not Gotti, I'm all for thriving in silence Cause if you not, your life will flash through your eyelids Come on [Hook x2] [Verse 2] I got my revenge, sold my soul to the devil for riches My murder game crazy, but on another level for snitches Ya’ll looking round like the Konami Code Up, Up, down, down, left, right, left, right, lookin’ for my pot of gold While ya’ll dealing with Drama Hoes, I'm smoking up Ganja tho Couture has opulence minus the blood drops on my Mobster clothes Wankstas horrifically two stepping with they lobster toes Got beef and I will bury the hatchet like Geronimo My life will always be blast with the mac first Or you’ll end up in the back of a black hearse You wanna get the scoop then come by the Ben and Jerry’s I’ll leave you dead and buried, more black tuxes around then when you were gettin’ married My men are scary, trained killers, armed psychopaths We roll deep, and we don’t follow the righteous path In order to make the presidents, you need to be tight at math And when your homies betray you, you need to entice your wrath [Hook x2] [Verse 3] The hustler's life is lonely, everyone's out to get you Dealing with all these traitor haters and loathing that they will disrespect too This shit let me live out my dreams, I'm making it to the top This shit let me spend out my cream, I just hope that I don't drop They tell me, keep your friends close but your enemies closer But they’ll both take you down in the drop of a hat, for some chocha Just look what happened with Sosa, he sent squads to storm his buildin’ Just because he wouldn’t take the life of innocent children Al Capone got sent into jail for tax evasion, it’s that amazing Billion dollar empire, deal with cops that harass and chase us We were born from the shit that was forced upon us We just made the moves to better our lives that’s coursed and dishonest Now I’m forced to demolish, anyone obstructing our path I refuse to go down in a blaze without the final laugh It’s like seeing through Judas’s Lies Betrayal through Freddy Kruger’s eyes Horrendous dreams of pulling out Rugers and shootin' through stupid guys I have no other options, calculate moves and wait til’ all the losers die It’s either Doe or Die or Suicide You decide, mothafucka [Hook]