Released: July 2, 1996

Songwriter: Tone Nas

Producer: Trackmasters

[Produced by Trackmasters]

[Verse 1]
Yo, release what's in me
Besides the Henny, it's eyes that's seen plenty
Fiends get skinny as if Queens was a Craig Jenny
Instead of diet plans, it's crack, 200 grams
I pump a G-pack, peeping for where the D's at
It's slow, looking for Rambo
The cop who got grazed back in the days
Chasing niggas through my project maze
That cop - he got a death wish
He run behind niggas until you breathless
Everyday he making ten arrests, shit!
My nigga, check this, I know the bitch he rest with
I even blessed it, forty-dash-ten, inspect it
(Already checked it, dunn, near his ankle you could see his gun)
Peep, he parked his Jeep in the back of the slum
To check Tanisha, fat ass, real fly with the blonde caesar
Vittadini summer gear, she push the two-seater
I heard she brag about the way he eat her
A Irish man, short, slim with a tan, they say he laced her cheeba
She due, be looking weaker, now her teeth are foul
Speaking loud, peep her style, in and out of every reefer cloud
Fat ass dissolving, like cotton candy in a mouth that's starving
Rock the same gear daily, like a soldier in my squadron
I heard she let Jake investigate from her window
'Cause she's a nympho, sucking dick and coughing up info
So now it's set up, her and the beast to get wet up
I know he vest up, we blazing from the neck up
(Yo, let me knock first) Soon as he open, let your Gi-Glock burst
They had the chains on, son, hit the lock first
We busted in, the cop jerked, Jungle popped one in his shirt
I grabbed the bitch by her tits, she tried to say she Earth
We saw the cameras, tape recorders and the monitors
They eyeing us, (Nas, yo, he survived one from the fo'-five)
Pull his shades down, they seen his last days now
There's no way now, we can be treated just like a slave now
Two in the dome, he's laid down
Aiyo, the bitch is saved now
She's living in a snitch grave now

[Chorus]
Shootouts is similar to Wild West
Broad daylight, face-to-face without a vest
You know the episodes, thugs camouflage the spectacles
Please God, just save the life that the Devil sold
See, It Was Written but was never told
Peep the jewels, black man, it's even better than gold
Niggas roll with iron, police roll in hot pursuit
Trying to stop the loot, fuck Jake, cock and shoot

[Verse 2]
Still on the streets with my peeps so deep
We threw a block party for my man going up creek
To do his two to four
Niggas show love, from all around the board
Peace Lord, Sony Handy-Cam on record
Pop a bottle, 'cause when you come home, we still got it sewn
We can watch the tape, play back and just zone
Film all the bitches, on the benches with ill extensions
We block the streets off, only crew cars can enter
Music was loud and it was crowded
Barbecued wings, we fed the fiends
(Gamble in the back!) Killa shouted
And Frank tried to stop the bank, lost about what a Roley cost
Guzzled his drink, and staggered off
He's a Big Will, used to slang krill, now he own The Hill
Couldn't take losing his cash, and I could feel
Something in the air, yeah
Frank returned with Pierre
A gunslinger, who niggas hadn't seen in a year
I usually be holding - 'specially this type of weekend
And everyone except for me had started reaching
They had gats in each others faces
With kids and grandmothers around
Frank's only concern was his papers
My man Killa let off, half of them fake niggas jet off
Police blitz quick, waiting for that to set off
Running the static, it got me mad 'cause they a bunch of faggots
Starting shit in my hood, I can't have it
Yo High, get the 40-Cali stainless, Jake is still out
Let's make it real and still make them niggas famous
Dip behind trees in fatigues and squeeze, dodge and weave
Hearing Jake retaliating, and Wiz was up the alley waiting
We breeze, jump in the ride, heard Pierre died
Internal bleeding inside, and ain't been back since '95

[Chorus]
Shootouts is similar to Wild West
Broad daylight, face to face without a vest
You know the episodes, thugs camouflage the spectacles
Please God, just save the life that the Devil sold
See, It Was Written but was never told
Peep the jewels, black man, it's even better than gold
Niggas roll with iron, police roll in hot pursuit
Trying to stop the loot, fuck Jake, cock and shoot

Nas

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.