H To The OMO

Ma, I'm sorry who the fuck I AM, I can't trust my fans

Out of luck, no constructive plans

My friends stay powdered up, I'm so drunk, can't stand

You said if I would sober up, I'd be a powerful man

Turned out the street life, you prayed I wouldn't

But every church in the world can't save our children

I stayed out late, you heard shots, thought it would be

Your oldest son on the ground dead, but fortunately

Them bullets had some other names on it, a brother was blind

I hit the L, then we yell out, "It wasn't my time!"

I loaded up shells, one by one, you smelled blunt from my room door

Littlе Nasir was at war

And little did I care what you saw

Crew deep with a fеw heat, now it's time we settle the score

But in the projects, I visit Muhammad, in linen garments

Preaching Man, Woman, and Child, the living Prophet

And I'm similar, Nasir Bin Olu Dara

Visqu Allah, fist full of dollars in the dice game God

The Ice King, God, the Black Christ, elegant stance

Clothes fit me like a crime boss, the medicine man

I see the world collapsing, young pregnancies

Young girls are unfastening they Sasoon jeans, no prophylactic

All this fashion and fly jewelry, now makes my eyes teary

N.Y. City, grab a hold and ride with me

Rip the Freeway, shoot through Memphis with money bags

Stop in Philly, order cheese steaks and eat Beans fast

And bring it back up top, remove the fake king of New York

You show off, I count off when you sample my voice

I rule you, before, you used to rap like the Fu-Schnickens

Nas designed your Blueprint, who you kidding?

Is he H to the izzo, M to the izzo?

For shizzle you phony, the rapper version of Sisqo

And that's for certain, you cloned me, your wack clothes line

I'd rather Sean John, bore me with your fake coke rhymes

And those times, they never took place, you liar

Un was your first court case, you had no priors

You master fabricated stories of streets and sound slick

Have you surrounded, you and them faggot you down with

While they riding NAS, trying to boost their careers

Corny as Cormega, all you Hip-Hop queers

Since Illmatic, It Was Written: I Am...Nastradamus

That's the answers to the puzzle I gave you, now here's a promise

My next few albums, instead of projects

They'll be a difficult test inside the cover for the mind's optics

Come in my hood, but bring the guns with you, it's dark

Headed through Brooklyn, Queens, Harlem, Staten, and Bronx

Headed through Compton, Oaktown, South Central, and Watts

New Orleans, Mississippi, Chi-town, every block

I'm trying to have my positive ways, I put my rhymes on page

Did crimes and headline on stage

I signed a contract, so here it is, you have it

Streets Disciple, I'm Stillmatic