Nas - Street's Disciple (feat. Olu Dara) Lyrics
[Nas]Yeah, yeah, yeahYou was born in the eighties, pops drove a MercedesDid a bid, coming home to some grown ass kidCrack baby turn to young thug, description might fit youLook around it might hit youNo joke, I wanna pistol fight with youShit comes around faster than you thinkBlood and white chalk makes pink, so what's that make you?Become a creature of habitat, the average catWon't see where it's at, or where it's goingThe hood waits for no oneI've been through it from Ewings to Buicks, to body viewingsCar chases to court cases, to fly vacationsFrom wanting it all, to being the object of your admirationImagination is what they lackIt stops niggaz from getting stacksfeeling trapped on the block with loose cracksWisdom is vital for the survival of the street's disciple[Chorus]"From the day you were born" (Olu Daru sample)"Starring out, a young disciple" (Nas Sample)"You had that gleam in your eye" (Olu Daru sample)Disciple of the projects!"From the day you were born" (Olu Daru sample)"Street's Disciple" (Nas Sample)"Disciple of the projects" (Olu Daru sample)[Nas]Moonstruck stuck, slow as molasses in my actionsThat's compliments of a fast spliff in the night lifeIn my flight jacket, adrenaline heightened, mimickin Tysonafter watchin him cut up Razor RuddockIn the gutter, which was once ghetto prophecy is now ghetto scriptureLookin back at it, blowjobs from pretty crack addictsOlder Gods wantin no static, told some lil' niggaz they can have itCoke baggin and toe-tagginThey took Will, let me describe him, a live oneI think that he was the true +God's Son+ - not Jesus, but fearlessHis ear was up on them sounds too, he'd hear somethinnot to his likin, and say 'Son they bitin you"He never got to see my debut, wild-manneredBut wild with them hammers, niggaz frontin couldn't stand itTook him off the planet, left us in 9-2With the philosophy of what arms do, a true street's disciple[Chorus][Nas]Plug the mics up, I'm ready to rock, knockingReminiscing of measuring pots of Pyrex, cook in the kitchenCaptain Hook to these infantsIt's like my folks is still on the benchesSurrounded by villains and henchmen, was a killer convention1991, son, gold fronts on the facial, gun buck by the navalDisciple could blaze you, we laced it with embalming fluidRhyming to music all this timeFighting 'bout how Kane and Rakim would do itSeemed impossible to us that we could ever leaveFrom the block, where the world was forever freezingHell if I ever let them shovel me, son, in this cell again***** these devil policemen, plush leathers, I need themRisking my freedom, burners in bubble coats***** a sermon from the neighborhood popeHe's sexing ho's, old fart, he's busting ones when he strokeMulti-colored Pelle Pelle's, young stretch mark belliesBabies born in a cycle, future disciples[Chorus]
