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Song title: Nas - The Black Bond

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Verse 1:
I pull a string on the lamp, that shit darkens
I'm livin' in an elegant Moroccan apartment
Proletarian chick sparkin'
Convo weak, and I don't really care for her jargon
Balcony is windy, lookin' at the stars and
(?) on the Henny, woozy in the head, wobblin'
Gucci pillow on the bed, while she givin' noggin
Listenin' and trippin' off the Maxwell album
Thinkin' I should leave to a European island
(?) Spain, bring a book about stylin'
Dinner serenaded with a violin
But shorty not qualified to be took to that kind of outing
Gotta be a fly bitch to hang around that fly shit
Fine dining Olive Garden, naw bitch, Nas is
In the real deal, food spots on the constant
Pick the right wine - a Chianti - to wash it
Lifestyle encompasses top-notch watches
Rolexes anonymous shit I'm coppin'
Ask her has she been around duffle bags full of that "fuck you cash"
Get off the jet with me in heels, I'll cup your ass
Looking in my eyes, saying "Nas you're one lucky bastard"
Grip your clutch, you'll get finger fucked in the passenger
I hit the dutch, blow smoke out, music and laughter
See us in the coupe flyin' past ya