Nas

Released: November 23, 2017

Songwriter: Nas

Producer: L.E.S.

[Intro]
What you say? Can't hear you, man, speak the fuck up
(It's what they want) Word (It's what they want)

[Verse 1]
Nastradamus, skama lit, know when I rep
Flow when I'm set, I got the chips to make a Lotus my whip
Gold on my neck was once a code of respect
For high rollers and vets
Now it's loads of baguettes
Prefer a Mac-10 over a Tec
No matter sober or wet, I smack soldier cadets
Trees that might eject my hype back
Famous phrase "Nigga, light that"
Hoes you fuck ask you: 'Where your ice at, dunn?'
It's all about Playboys when we was young
Could only get tongue, then finally we could cum
Busting in hoes, guzzling 4's
Crack blitz, '86, you turn hustling pro
From bottles, to seven in your hand
To fake Pepsi's, to get to the crack, unscrew the can
Gleam blunted, seeing 100's, stacks of boy with a lean on it
We got it if the fiends want it
The whole block singing the same theme "Don it"
Fuck it, too many crabs in the bucket
If it's ice work, I'm gon' truck it
You gotta love it, you gotta love it

[Hook]
(It's what they want) Fuck it, you gotta love it
(It's what they want, huh? It's what they want)
Fuck it, you gotta love it
(It's what they want, huh?) Fuck it, you gotta love it

[Verse 2]
Some girls get too emotional, fanatic extremist
Compulsive, with malice incentives, the foulest of bitches
Hunger my riches, her childish wishes
Be suspicious of those sleeping with fishes, them hoes
Conspicuous and it shows, tricking this dough
Kicking this flow, slip and you fold
So when your clique roll, I let my clips go
Niggas on opposite poles
I got that confident soul, for those locked in a hole
Inhumane, living hostile opposed
To living on the street, proper from my top to my toes
Aeropostale my clothes, Vernon niggas in Suburbans with liquor
Preposterous foes, finicky foul niggas
See niggas and blacks, there goes a loud difference
Coke sniffing, tapping 13-year-old chickens
You can't be a kingpin when you snitching
Regardless, we still make you a target
We shoot you in jail, chrome objects
Hit you in your own projects, it's street-onomics
This rhyme is edited, credited through ebonics
Miserable cats, hunger paining
Get off your ass, stop complaining
My crew be in Montego Bay Macarena-ing
Marinating, while you home, waiting your arraignment
This thug life you claimed it, I make millions from entertainment
Now back in the hood, certain cats, they wanna kill me
They ice grill me, but on the low, niggas feel me
You gotta love it

[Hook]
Fuck it, you gotta love it (It's what they want, huh?)
Fuck it, you gotta love it (It's what they want)
Fuck it, you gotta love it (It's what they want, huh?)
(It's what they want...it's what they want)

Nasir bin Olu Dara Jones, known to one and all as Nas, is one of hip-hop’s best-known, most mercurial, and lyrically blessed figures ever to touch the microphone. Since his heart-stopping debut turn on Main Source’s “Live at the Barbeque,” Nas has delivered countless beautifully structured, thought-provoking, keenly observed verses.

Growing up in Queens, NY, Nas never really performed in big crowds—he kept to himself. Nas used a different type of vernacular that others didn’t understand, which helped him to stand out from other rappers from his era.

With every ensuing album, Nas always reminds fans that he’s still the same Queensbridge MC who crafted one of the greatest albums of all time, and arguably the bible of Hip-Hop, Illmatic.

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