You Don't Know Me

[Intro: Nas] This goes out to you! To you! To you! To you, you and you! Don't none of y'all want it! None of y'all know me, man To all my baby mothers in the club — check it out! [Verse 1] Yo, girls — I got 'em locked so similar to a prison Hear this monster jam, I be callin' it 'Gangsterism' I murder you for dope, I'm the street distributor I'm homicidal, pointin' the pump scope to shoot you Street connects, mob ties on East and West We gouge out your eyeballs if you seen too much Hoppin' out drops with blings and stuff With ball players' wives, Mercedes 5 Dangerous lives and haters die rollin' with convicts Conscience who tolerate no nonsense Fake rappers in doo-rags get shot-up at they concert Your bitch bleed, bitin' her nipples with my chipped tooth I drink her blood like I'm Dracula, mack in the 6-Coupé The sky become red, heard y'all niggas work with the Feds Doesn't matter, blood'll splatter, everybody must dead I got a urge for self-reinvention, but I'm old-fashioned From the corner's with the winos laughin' Dealers and Five-o blastin' Capitalist thoughts like Presidents, I'm burnin' Bush's Nas — the realest, it's nuttin' to fuck wit' [Hook: Uncredited Female & (Nas)] You think you know me, but I... (Tell 'em, Ma) Don't think so (Don't think so) It takes a lil more than... (What? What?) What you know about me (See, what you don't know, you never will) (And what you don't know will get yourself killed) About me (See, what you don't know, you never will) (And what you don't know will get yourself killed) You'll never know [Verse 2] I smoke weed like them '60s rebellions, hippies on heroin Spliffs inhalin', what I speak's strictly for felons Dippin' in they 6-4, hittin' the switches Or sittin' in they Bentley Azure's, feelin' the riches Or just ridin', truck drivin' Impalas, Denali's I fuck with those, but I lust for silver Ferrari's I fuck hoes with the ceilings, have mirrors to watch me My bed shaped like a pyramid, feelin' the dry heat Spillin' Courvoisi', I'm half slave-master, half Apache, half African Mutts is what I call us Black men Lead astray on drugs and cups of alcohol, 'cause back when They let us off ships; the soul of man was lost or trapped in But every ghetto, every hood, no matter where the town Is all haunted, all on top of slave burial grounds Dead cooks, workers and maids under this Earth in rage Ancient whore houses — that explain my sexual ways Money and murder interprets the American dream The world loves a gangsta, I found my place in this thing Royce's, diamonds and bosses, woman who're gorgeous Traitors, killers and enemies remorseless, we live this! [Hook: Uncredited Female & (Nas)] You think you know me, but I... (Tell 'em, Ma) Don't think so (Don't think so) It takes a lil more than... (What? What?) What you know about me (See, what you don't know, you never will) (And what you don't know will get yourself killed) About me (See, what you don't know, you never will) (And what you don't know will get yourself killed) You'll never know [Verse 3] Gypsies, preachers, choirs, churches, liquor store The world is full of liars, curses, people rich or poor Without God to worship, see, we would be more lost Gotta believe in somethin', or there would be no laws A ghetto child occasionally blunted in mansions My cup overflow with Cristal, hundred exotic dancers Niggas is plastic, ass gets jealous and passive My pistol blast at cowards, leeches and rappers Niggas I fuck with is Bravehearts, make G's Before rap music to me was wind blowin' the trees Birds chirpin', rain fallin', perfect and free But bitches saw my video and think they know me These niggas bad talkin', claimin' they gon' do me Stay out my path, homie, you fuckin' wit' a true G! Bitch, you don't know me! [Hook: Uncredited Female & (Nas)] You think you know me, but I... (Tell 'em, Ma) Don't think so (Don't think so) It takes a lil more than... (What? What?) What do you know about me? (See, what you don't know, you never will) (And what you don't know will get yourself killed) (See, what you don't know, you never will) (And what you don't know will get yourself killed) [Outro: Nas] Forget the magazines, award shows on the TV screen The blings, all the cars, ghetto superstars This is real, no gimmicks, man See, none of that makes me, so don't judge me 'Cause y'all don't know me, homie Trackmasters, Bravehearts, Ill Will, will kill PEACE!