Nas - Westwood Classic Freestyle Lyrics
[Nas:]Foreign carsThree for Alize niggaz deceased or behind barsI rap divine Gods check the prognosis, is it real or showbiz?My window faces shootouts, drug overdosesLive amongst no roses, only the drama, for realA nickel-plate is my fate, my medicine is the ganjaHere's my basis, razor embraces, many facesYour telephone blowin, black stitches or fat shoelacesPeoples are petrol, dramatic automatic fo'-fo' I let blowBack down po-po when I'm vexed soMy pen taps the paper then my brain's blankI see dark streets, hustlin brothers who keep the same rank[Chorus: Nas]It Goes On to the Break Of Dawn, Listening to Words, Knowledge, Word Is BondIt Goes On to the Break Of Dawn, Listen to the Words, and the Knowledge[Nas:]I keep a gem-star razor under my tongue... and near my gumsWhen I'm not strapped... blow just before you ***** your glocc backTouch your temple, leave you leaking, while I'm speakingThe shit that I be freaking, gives me papers, while I'm sleeping... GWalk around mega hard, like wateva God...You could'ntcount how many niggas my bretta scarredI light the marijuana smoke, and chicksAnd posers that I'm smoking withCould'nttake it, my ganja left emotionlessI leave your brain stuckGiving hoes a plain *****They call me Nasty, but I'm not with the strange stuffWhen I'm drunk, I stagger right and lyrics with a daggerNext stabber catchin reck, badder than a tec would had of...Lefted struck, now whose next up...I murder, send me to San Quentin and I'm lynching niggas... Word UpA sing-sing, ***** is a hang, still is the same thing...No... matter the cell blockNas will be named KingSlaughter... drinking head rock...Forget water, peace to my niggas with my shit in ya tape recorder[Chorus: Nas]It Goes On, Word Is Bond... Word Is Bond... Lettin Nas Nas be Born... With WestwoodYea[Nas:]Pardon the Curses, but just in the verses, when I...Was a kid, I used to blow up the churchesBut now, I got older, snatching pursesWalking around, I'm a nervous reckWhat the heck?Don't disrespect...Cause if you do... you might get hit with the tecOff the top of my headYes, I'm a bluntheadThe F.I... F.B.I. want me deadBut yea... I might stutterWhen I'm still crazy butterDoing whatever you wantI'm from the gutter...Queensbridge, where I live... New York CityWhere it comes by, and the girls look prettyLike my man Malakai said...It goes on, Word Is Bond... till the end, my friend I wanna drive me a Benz...I swear... and my mother*****ing real name is Nasir... YeaIt Goes On, Like Dat, It Don't StopI keep it real rocking that New York Hip HopStraight outta Queens, by all meansI chill with sess fiends, in Guess JeansYes, Yes, It's On
