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Hip Hop Is Dead Lyrics


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Hip Hop Is Dead

[*DJ samples*]
"Hip hop" "hip hop" "is dead"
"Hip--hip hop" "hip hop" "is dead"
"Hip--hip hop" "hip--hip hop" "is dead"
"Hip--hip hop" "hip hop" "hip hop"

[Hook - 2X]
If hip hop should die before I wake
I'll put an extended clip inside of my AK
Roll to every station, wreck the DJ
Roll to every station, wreck the DJ

[sample]
Hip hop just died this mornin'
And she's dead, she's dead

[Verse 1]
Yeah, niggaz smoke,chill, party, and die in the same corner
Get cash, live fast, body their man's mama
Rich ass niggaz is ridin' with three llamas
Revenge in their eyes, Hennesy and the ganja
Word to the wise with villain state of minds
Grindin', hittin' Brazilian dimes from behind
Grindin', hittin' Brazilian dimes from behind
(Grindin', hittin' Brazilian dimes from behind)
Whenever, if ever, I roll up, it's sown up
Any ghetto will tell ya Nas helped grow us up
My face once graced promotional Sony trucks
Hundred million in billin', I helped build 'em up
Gave my nigga my right, I could have gave left
So like my girl Foxy, the kid went Def
So nigga, who's your top ten?
Is it MC Shan? Is it MC Ren?

[Hook - 2X]

[sample]
Hip hop just died this mornin'
And she's dead, she's dead

[Verse 2]
The bigger the cap, the bigger the peelin'
Come through, something ill, missin' the ceilin'
What influenced my raps? Stick ups and killings
Kidnappings, project buildings, drug dealings
Criticize that, why is that?
Cuz Nas rap is compared to legitimized crap
Cuz we love to talk on ass we gettin'
Most intellectuals will only half listen
So you can't blame jazz musicians
Or David Stern with his NBA fashion issues
Oh I they like me--in my white tee
You can't ice me, we here for life B
On my second marriage, hip hop's my first wifey
And for that we not takin' it lightly
If hip hop should die we die together
Bodies in the morgue lie together
All together now

[Hook - 2X]

[sample]
Hip hop just died this mornin'
Hip hop just died this mornin'
Hip hop just died this mornin'
And she's dead, she's dead

{*crowd chanting "Hip hop!" becomes beat*}

[Verse 3]
Everybody sound the same, commercialize the game
Reminiscin' when it wasn't all business
If it got where it started
So we all gather here for the dearly departed
Hip hopper since a toddler
One homeboy became a man then a mobster
If the guys let me get my last swig of Vodka
R.I.P., we'll donate your lungs to a rasta
Went from turntables to mp3s
From "Beat Street" to commercials on Mickey D's
From gold cables to Jacobs
From plain facials to Botox and face lifts
I'm lookin' over my shoulder
It's about eighty niggaz from my hood that showed up
And they came to show love
Sold out concert and the doors are closed shut

Made You Look Lyrics


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*gunshot blast*
*old school break beat, thugs chant "braveheart! braveheart! braveheart! braveheart! braveheart! braveheart! braveheart!"

[Verse 1: Nas]
Uh, uh, uh, now let's get it all in perspective
For all y'all enjoyin' it, a song y'all can step wit'
Y'all appointed me to bring rap justice
But I ain't five-O, y'all know it's Nas yo
Grey goose and a whole lotta hydro
Only describe us as soldier survivors
Stay laced in the best, well dressed with finesse
In a white tee lookin for wifey
Thug girl who fly and talks so nicely
Put her in the coupe so she can feel the nice breeze
We can drive through the city no doubt, but don't say my car's topless
Say the titties is out, newness here's the anthem
Put your hand up that you shoot with, count your loot wit'
Push the pool stick in your new crib, same hand that you hoop with
Swing around like you stupid, king'a the town, yeah I been that
You know I click-clack where you and your men's at
Do the Smurf, do the Wop, Baseball Bat
Rooftop like we bringing '88 back


[Chorus: Nas (2x)]
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?



[Verse 2: Nas]
This ain't rappin, this is Street-Hop
Now get up off your ass like your seat's hot
My live niggaz lit up the reefer
Trunk'a 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 tention
Baller convention, free admission
Hustlers, dealers and killers'ca move swift
Girls get close, you'ca 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 phony
Pull out my waist, the eagle fo-forty


[Chorus]

*thugs chanting "Braveheart!" over DJ scratching 4X*


[Verse 3: Nas]
I see niggaz 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, I'll fight you punk asses
Like Pun said, "You not even en mi clasa"
Mayback, spins 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

*record scratched off, Nas rhymes acapella*
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, niggaz loose consciousness!

The Message Lyrics


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Fake thug, no love, you get the slug, CB4 Gusto
Your luck low, I didn't know til I was drunk though
You freak niggaz played out, get fucked and ate out
Prostitute turned bitch, I got the gauge out
96 ways I made out, Montana way
The Good-F-E-L-L-A, verbal AK spray
Dipped attache, jumped out the Range, empty out the ashtray
A glass of 'ze make a man Cassius Clay
Red dot plots, murder schemes, thirty-two shotguns
Regulate wit my Dunn's, 17 rocks gleam from one ring
Yo let me let y'all niggaz know one thing
There's one life, one love, so there can only be one King
The highlights of livin, Vegas style roll dice in linen
Antera spinnin on Milleniums, twenty G bets I'm winnin them
Threats I'm sendin them, Lex with TV sets the minimum
Ill sex adrenaline
Party with villians, a case of Demi-Sec to chase the Henny
Wet any clique, with the semi-tech who want it
Diamonds I flaunt it, chickenheads flock I lace em
Fried broiled with basil, taste em, crack the legs
way out of formation, it's horizontal how I have em
fuckin me in the Benz wagon
Can it be Vanity from Last Dragon
Grab your gun it's on though
Shit is grimy, real niggaz buck in broad daylight
with the broke Mac it won't spray right
Don't give a fuck who they hit, as long as the drama's lit
Yo, overnight thugs, bug cause they ain't promised shit
Hungry-ass hooligans stay on that piranha shit

Chorus: samples from "New York State of Mind" (repeat 4X)

"I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death" -> Nas
"I ain't the type of brother made for you to start testin" -> Nas

[Nas]
I peeped you frontin, I was in the Jeep
Sunk in the seat, tinted with heat, beats bumpin
Across the street you was wildin
Talkin bout how you ran the Island in eighty-nine
Layin up, playin the yard with crazy shine
I cocked a baby 9 that nigga grave be mine, clanked him
What was he thinkin on my corner when it's pay me time
Dug em you owe me cousin somethin told me plug him
So dumb, felt my leg burn, then it got numb
Spun around and shot one, heard shots and dropped son
Caught a hot one, somebody take this biscuit 'fore the cops come
Then they came askin me my name, what the fuck
I got stitched up and went through
Left the hospital that same night, what
Got my gat back, time to backtrack
I had to drop so how the fuck I get clapped
Black was in the Jeep watchin all these scenes speed by
It was a brown Datsun, and yo nobody in my hood got one
That clown nigga's through, blazin at his crew daily
The 'Bridge touched me up severely hear me?
So when I rhyme it's sincerely yours
Be lightin L's sippin Coors, on all floors in project halls
Contemplatin war niggaz I was cool with before
We used to score together, Uptown coppin the raw
But uhh, a thug changes, and love changes
and best friends become strangers, word up

Chorus: first from "New York State of Mind", then "Halftime" (repeat 4X)

"Y'all know my steelo" -> Nas
"There ain't an army that could strike back" -> Nas

[Nas]
Thug niggaz
Yo, to them thug niggaz gettin it on in the world you know?
To them niggaz that's locked down
doin they thing survivin yaknowmsayin?
To my thorough niggaz, New York and world wide
Yo to the Queensbridge Militia
9-6 shit.. The Firm clique, Illmatic nigga
It Was Written though
It's been a long time comin
Y'all fake niggaz, tryin to copy
better come with the real though
Fake ass niggaz yo..
(They throw us slugs we throwin em back, what?)
Bring the shit man, live man
(Fuck that son)
Nine-six shit..