Featuring: Nas Pharoahe Monch
Producer: J. Period
[Produced by J. Period]
[Intro]
Where them gangster at
Where them dimes at
(J. Period)
[Verse: Nas]
This ain't rappin, this is Street-Hop
Now get up off your ass like your seat's hot
My live niggas lit up the reefer
Trunk of the car we got the Streetsweeper
Don't start none, won't be none
No reason for your mans to panic
You don't wanna see no ambulances
Knock a pimp's drink down in his pimp cup
That's the way you get Timberland'd up
Let the music diffuse all the tension
Baller convention, free admission
Hustlers, dealers and killers can move swift
Girls get close, you can feel where the tool's kept
All my just-comin' homies, parolees
Get money, leave the beef alone slowly
Get out my face, you people so phoney
Pull out my waist, the eagle fo-forty
[Hook: Nas]
They shootin'! -- Aw made you look
You a slave to a page in my rhyme book
Gettin' big money, playboy your time's up
Where them gangstas? Where them dimes at?
[Outro]
Bravehearts!
(Throw your hands in the sky
Queens is in the back)
[Verse: Nas]
I see niggas runnin', yo my mood is real rude
I lay you out, show you what steel do
Mobsters don't box, my pump shot obliges
Every invitation to fight you punk asses
Like Pun said, "You ain't even en mi clasa"
Maybach Benz, back seat, tv plasma
Ladies lookin for athletes or rappers
Whatever you choose, whatever you do
Make sure he a thug and intelligent too
Like a real thoroughbred is, show me love
Lemme feel how the head is
Females whose the sexiest is always the nastiest
And I like a little sassiness, a lotta class
Mommy reach in your bag, pass the fifth
I'm a leader at last, this a don you wit'
My nines'll spit, niggas lose con...
[Intro]
Where them gangster at
Where them dimes at
(J. Period)
[Verse: Nas]
This ain't rappin, this is Street-Hop
Now get up off your ass like your seat's hot
My live niggas lit up the reefer
Trunk of the car we got the Streetsweeper
Don't start none, won't be none
No reason for your mans to panic
You don't wanna see no ambulances
Knock a pimp's drink down in his pimp cup
That's the way you get Timberland'd up
Let the music diffuse all the tension
Baller convention, free admission
Hustlers, dealers and killers can move swift
Girls get close, you can feel where the tool's kept
All my just-comin' homies, parolees
Get money, leave the beef alone slowly
Get out my face, you people so phoney
Pull out my waist, the eagle fo-forty
[Hook: Nas]
They shootin'! -- Aw made you look
You a slave to a page in my rhyme book
Gettin' big money, playboy your time's up
Where them gangstas? Where them dimes at?
[Outro]
Bravehearts!
(Throw your hands in the sky
Queens is in the back)
[Verse: Nas]
I see niggas runnin', yo my mood is real rude
I lay you out, show you what steel do
Mobsters don't box, my pump shot obliges
Every invitation to fight you punk asses
Like Pun said, "You ain't even en mi clasa"
Maybach Benz, back seat, tv plasma
Ladies lookin for athletes or rappers
Whatever you choose, whatever you do
Make sure he a thug and intelligent too
Like a real thoroughbred is, show me love
Lemme feel how the head is
Females whose the sexiest is always the nastiest
And I like a little sassiness, a lotta class
Mommy reach in your bag, pass the fifth
I'm a leader at last, this a don you wit'
My nines'll spit, niggas lose con...
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