Nas

Released: November 30, 2004

Songwriter: Nas L.E.S.

Producer: L.E.S.

[Intro]
Nas "Two-thousand-four, yeah. L, whattup?"
L.E.S. "Prophesy!"
Nas "Yeah."
L.E.S. "Prophesy baby!"

[Hook: Nas & L.E.S.]
Disciple, Disciple (What?!) Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (Let's go!)

[Verse 1: Nas]
Word to mama, any lineup of rhymers
Could bring any drama, anytime, the city's mine, Nas Is Like
Love Undying, Money's My Bitch in Thugz Mansion
Thugs dancin' around the fly shit
Pharaoh garment's Prada, Egyptian camelback-riders
Pyramid architects, Perignon bottles
Money, jewelry want me then come get me
Hit me but don't miss me, you history
Lead flowin' around like a Frisbee, Italian dons from Sicily kiss me
This ain't 50, this ain't Jigga, this ain't Diddy, this ain't Pretty
Pain, power, pussy and pistols, lyrically no one, hold none near me, hear me
Kids cheer me like The Count of Monte-Cristo
Steady poundin' soundin' like G without the lisp though
My big bro told me plain and simple, "Nas do not look back"
Watch where you took rap, no bookbags and trucker hats
Just army jacks and diamonds that's flashin'
What the fuck is that, freestyle

[Hook: Nas & L.E.S.]
Disciple, Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (Esco!)

[Verse 2: Nas]
Like Paul, Michael and Matthew, Peter, James and Andrew
Phillip, Simon and Judas -- I'm disciple of music
Street beats is the main thing minus the traitor
And I'm not a dictator, I'm the righteous invitin' you haters
Inside the life of the greatest, it'll take you through something real
Get a smack in your face, cause I hurt up, trauma-tize, llama
Bust shells, destroy yet try'ta prevent violence
If I present iron somebody dyin', don't even worry 'bout it
Then dress warm for the cemetery climate
When I speak I need cemetery silence, terror
See me, gold Hummers, Lamborghinis, man who stole the summer
Hand straight gleamin', if I don't know you toe-tag you
Drag you through the cement, fo-fo maggie
Body parts in my man's Maserati car, then party hard in Madagascar
While rigor mortis'll grab ya, him retarded, I'm pass that
Gloves on, where the mask at? Too many love songs
All the thugs gone, what happened? Where's the passion?
Rappers battlin' non-rappers, carryin' on backwards
Laughin' sayin' Nas thinks he's Farrakhan preachin' blackness
Hell yeah, awareness is my alias
Word to the 'Braveheart' written on my bare chest
The realest, HERE IT IS!

[Hook: Nas & L.E.S.]
Disciple, Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (STREET'S!)
Disciple (Street's!)
Disciple (Street's!)
Disciple (Esco!)

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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Street’s Disciple

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Street’s Disciple (2004)

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Street’s Disciple