[Produced by Large Professor]
[Intro]
Check me out, y'all
Nasty Nas in your area
About to cause ma** hysteria
[Verse 1]
Before I blunt, I take out my fronts
Then I start to front; matter of fact, I be on a manhunt
You couldn't catch me in the streets without a ton of reefer
That's like Malcolm X catching the Jungle Fever
King poetic; too much flavor, I'm major
Atlanta ain't Brave-r, I'll pull a number, like a pager
‘Cause I'm an ace when I face the ba**
40-side is the place that is giving me grace
Now wait, another dose and you might be dead
And I'm a Nike-head, I wear chains that excite the Feds
And ain't a damn thing gonna change
I'm a performer, strange
So the mic warmer was born to gain
Nas, why did you do it? You know
You got the mad-phat fluid when you rhyme; it's halftime
[Hook]
It's halftime
This is how it feel
Check it out, how it feel
[Verse 2]
It's like that, you know it's like that
I got it hemmed, now you never get the mic back
When I attack, there ain't an army that could strike back
So I react never calmly on a hype track
I set it off with my own rhyme
‘Cause I'm as ill as a convict who k**s for phone time
I'm max like ca**ettes, I flex like s**
In your stereo sets, Nas'll catch wreck
I used to hustle; now all I do is relax and strive
When I was young I was a fan of the Jackson 5
I drop j**els, wear j**els, hope to never run it
With more kicks than a baby in a mother's stomach
Nasty Nas has to rise, ‘cause I'm wise
This is exercise 'til the microphone dies
Back in '83 I was an MC sparkin'
But I was too scared to grab the mics in the parks, and
Kick my little raps ‘cause I thought n***as wouldn't understand
And now in every jam I'm the f**in' man
I rap in front of more n***as than in the slave ships
I used to watch "CHiPs", now I load Glock clips
I got to have it, I miss Mr. Magic
Versatile, my style switches, like a f*ggot
But not bis**ual; I'm an intellectual
Of rap I'm a professional, and that's no question, yo
These are the lyrics of the man
You can't near it, understand?
‘Cause in the streets I'm well-known, like the number man
Am I in place with the ba** and format?
Explore rap and tell me, "Nas ain't all that."
And next time I rhyme, I be foul
Whenever I freestyle I see trial, n***as say I'm wild
I hate a rhyme-biter's rhyme
Stay tuned, Nas soon; the real rap comes at halftime
[Hook]
It's halftime
This is how it feel
Check it out, how it feel
[Verse 3]
I got it going on, even flip a morning song
Every afternoon, I kick half the tune
And in the darkness, I'm heartless, like when the NARC's hit
Word to Marcus Garvey; I hardly sparked it
‘Cause when I blast the herb, that's my word
I be slayin' them fast, doing this that and the third
But chill, pa** the Andre, and let's slay
I bag b**hes up at John Jay, and hit a matinee
Putting hits on 5-0
‘Cause when it's my time to go, I wait for God with the .44
And biters can't come near
And yo, go to hell to the foul cop who shot Garcia
I won't plant seeds
Don't need an extra mouth I can't feed
That's extra Phillie change, more cash for damp weed
This goes out to Manhattan, the island of Staten
Brooklyn and Queens is living fat, and
The Boogie Down, enough props, enough clout
Ill Will, rest in peace! Yo, I'm out