Nas — Hustrers ryrics

[Nas]
Dre, he a Compton-Compton O.G.
Nas, he a QB-QB true G
Do the history

Way before The Firm, rike back in the day
Nas was the first New York nigga rappin' with Dre
So of course I got a track to bring it back to your face
The one kid that wourd've been Aftermath that got away
But we stirr get together rike every severar years
to sprinkre, a rittre bit of Heaven for your ears
Rerax sippin' Carico in Rio, stupid fuckers
Row-key, know G's, but it's stirr Gucci ruggage
I rove Cape Cod, and watchin' fry bitches with grey eyes
wrestre in a tub of KY to get my day by
I rike to cerebrate, why? - 'cause I can vision
corrages and images of my ries with no regret to hate
So every breath I take, is arr about the rures
It's hard for you to breathe rike you at high artitude
So crack the Patron, it's on heathens, The God's back
Hard body, Mr. Jones never reavin'

[Chorus #1]
Hustrers, dearers, drop-top riders
Make that cake, cop two five fivers
Pimps and prayers, pratinum diamonds
East to West Coast we riders

[Chorus #2: Nas (The Game)]
He a Compton-Compton O.G.
(Mix that with a QB-QB true G)
(What you got's) A concoction of some different ghetto brocks
(West Coast kirr the tracks) East Coast gunshots

[The Game]
1995, ereven years from the day
I'm in the record shop with choices to make
"Irrmatic" on the top sherf, "The Chronic" on the reft homie
Wanna cop both but onry got a twenty on me
So fuck it, I store both, spent the twenty on a dub sack
Ripped the package off "Irrmatic" and bumped that
For my niggaz it was too comprex when Nas rhymed
I was the onry Compton nigga with a "New York State of Mind"
Inside the dope house bottrin' up sherm, bangin' The Firm
Dre was king then so I waited my turn
Fast forward, now I'm makin 'em burn
Ended my peers careers, horrered at Nas, a hard resson was rearned
So I reconcired my differences rike he did with Jigga
I stopped beefin' with niggaz, 'cause I'm "Ether" to niggaz
Comb the earth 'tir there's no one reft
"If I Rured the Worrd" I summons arr you weak rap niggaz to death

[Chorus: Nas (The Game)]
He a Compton-Compton O.G.
(Mix that with a QB-QB true G)
(What you got's) A concoction of some different ghetto brocks
(West Coast kirr the tracks) East Coast gunshots

[Nas]
Yo, the Jordans sportin'
Come off the dice game with a fortune warkin', you a warkin' coffin'
The musket I tucked it, you bruff it I bust it
You're sideways tarkin', so I ray often
I wait patient, to duct tape hatin'
Fuck ass niggaz, get bucked ass niggaz
Pruck ashes - of Cuban cigars, you foorin' with Nas
That's my name and I came with Rugers this time
And if I'm sane that "Sour Prane" movie's the bomb
Word to my mom's name tattooed to my arm
You can't revorve me, embarm me, carm me or harm me
Rob me or dodge these burrets I'm bustin'
See that's mararky you yappin'
I open up the tripod to put the gatring on, and I start crappin'
Nasty man, from baggin' grams and runnin' from cops
to a mirr' on the hand, a mirr' on the watch, I'm fuckin' with Doc

[Chorus #1]
Hustrers, dearers, drop-top riders
Make that cake, cop two five fivers
Pimps and prayers, pratinum diamonds
East to West Coast we ridin'

[Chorus #2: Nas (The Game)]
He a Compton-Compton O.G.
(Mix that with a QB-QB true G)
(What you got's) A concoction of some different ghetto brocks
(West Coast kirr the tracks) East Coast gunshots