Artist: Saul Williams f/ Nas
Album:  Black Stacey (Remix) 12"
Song:   Black Stacey (Remix)
Typed by: 
 Этот e-mail защищен от спам-ботов. Для его просмотра в вашем браузере должна быть включена поддержка Java-script
 

[Verse 1: Saul Williams]
I used to hump my pillow at night
The type of silent prayer to make myself prepare for the light
Me and my cousin Duce would rank the girls between one and ten
And the highest number got to be my pillows pretend
Now I apologize to every high ranker
But you taught me how to dream and so I also "Thank Ya"
I never had the courage to approach you at school
We joked around a lot and I know you thought I dressed cool
But I was just coverin' up
All the insecurities that came bubblin' up
My complexion had me stuck in an emotional rut
Like the time you Flavor flaved me and you called me "Yo Chuck"
They say "I'm too black man", I think I'm too black
Mom, do you think I'm too black?, I think I'm too black
I think I'm too black, I think I'm too black
You're black, you're black, you're black, you're black

[Hook: Saul Williams]
Black Stacey, they called me Black Stacey
I never got to be myself, 'cause to myself I always was..
Black Stacey, in polka dots and paisley
A double goose and bally shoes, you thought it wouldn't faze me
I was Black Stacey, the Preachers' son from Haiti
Who rhymed a lot and always got the dances at the party
I was Black Stacey, you thought it would was a phase
But it did, 'cause I was just a kid

[Verse 2: Nas]
Uh, Black Jesus help us - Muhammad (pbuh) guide me
Like Otis Blackwell, wrote hits for Elvis
Made my pen write, my insight as wisely
In flight, she five feet massage, plus got Kelis beside me
Yves St-Laurent shades, Dom P's, entrees
Land where there's palm trees
Louis luggage, truly love it
Truly covered in fragrance, from blazin' that stinky
Rubies like Diallo, red blood on my pinky
I peep this treatment I'm gettin', they actin' real funny
Like I don't belong here, but I'm spendin' real money
And they turnin' up their noses at us, like they can't stand us
Like I ain't a King, so I'm callin' up the Manager
Here comes this black dude, guess they've sent him to handle us
Have the nerve to say - "they don't tolerate no animals"
WHAT?, a sellout coon, he black like me
So we got the hell out the room, I roll with Black Stacey

[Verse 3: Saul Williams]
Now here's a little message for you
All you baller playa's got some insecurities too
That you could cover up, bling it up, cash in and cha-ching it up
Hope no one will bring it up, lock it down and string it up
Or you can share your essence with us
'cause everythin' about you couldn't be rugged and ruff
And even though you tote a glock and you're hot on the street
If you dare to share your heart, we'll nod our heart to its beat
And you should do that, if nothin' else, to prove that
A player like you could keep it honest and true
Don't mean to call your bluff, but motherfucka that's what I do
You got platinum chain then, son, I'm probably talkin' to you
And you can call your gang, your posse and the rest of your crew
And while you're at it, get them addicts and the indigent too
I plan to have a whole army by the time that I'm through
To load their guns with songs they haven't sung, like..

[Hook: Saul Williams]
Black Stacey, they called me Black Stacey
I never got to be myself, 'cause to myself I always was..
Black Stacey, in polka dots and paisley
A double goose and bally shoes, you thought it wouldn't faze me
I was Black Stacey, the Preachers' son from Haiti
Who rhymed a lot and always got the dances at the party
I was Black Stacey, you thought it would was a phase
But it did, 'cause I was just a kid

Artist: Tragedy Khadafi f/ Nas, Noreaga
Album:  Iron Sheik's EP 
Song:   Calm Down (Street Version)
Typed by: 
 Этот e-mail защищен от спам-ботов. Для его просмотра в вашем браузере должна быть включена поддержка Java-script
 

[Tragedy Khadafi]
Yo Yo Peep the black Moses
Literature in pure dosage
From the landscape of Kuwait jakes and vultures
Too many of us lose focus
Due to the fact that we all just a bunch of soldiers
foul cultures
Funny how the streets mold us
Allah told us in the cages where they hold us
Its much colder
Then babies follow our footsteps the way we rep
They model us leave a richer nigga dead and wet though
We learn the same jewels but it seems we forget though
Yeah
Shoulda knew what love is before we learn what a thug is
Know we left our seeds to be raised by they mothers
I seen the hood raise brothers
Kill too many of us
A thin line between the haters and the ones who love us
A thinner line from the freedom and the foul judges
In the streets where the snake niggas hold grudges

Chorus #1
(Nas)

Music make this thug calm down
Music make this thug.....calm down
Music make this thug calm down
Music make this thuuuug.....calm down
Yeah

[Nas]
Yo Yo
I know you hate to hear the drama but drama's all we know
We laugh with the rich cats when they leave we switch back
Somebody asked yo how he get that with his bitch ass
Comin' through on the humble just to chit chat
He used to be down on the corner with us
He was born with niggas but know he's on to mad figgas
With mad bitches a sharp dresser
Cool nigga but about to be called out
By the heart testers never known for bustin his chrome
Wasn't soft but wasn't respected till he was grown
School he graduated somebody you could say had made it
While we stayed in the projects walking the pavement
Everybody has their ups and downs 
But this one kid had stayed rich while we slang the grave shifts
I'm tired of it said a cat whose name I'mma leave anonymous
Cuz he might take it as some kind of dis
Anyway he saw him driving up inside the projects
Tried to stick him but he got bodied in the process
The victor had become the victim
Thought he had a smooth nigga caught but a smooth nigga licked him

Chorus #2
(Nas)

All the way doooooown
Music make these thuuuugs...calm down
Music make these thugs calm down
Music make these thuuuugs...calm down

[Noreaga]
Yo Jose Luis gotcha golden guns Frank Sinatra
Amigo sancha all on the scene with menacla
Fajardo Bayamon me and Ramon
Chrome K-Tone back to San Juan my pops home
Sit on the throne like a king of my kind
Take mine genuine laced up laid up
Yo ?Que Pasa? ven aqui yo you and your hijo
Perico Puerto Rico Manny's hijo Chico
He kept his heat low by his feet though
Came with mami chula grande cula
Little menuda smoke buddah fatty bangin' plus the bitch cuta
Que linda you should seened her
Iraq rush ya premises the nemesis
Drinkin Guinesses What! for Revelation on the Genesis
The Nazis and worn papi call up Khadafi 
I'm on today we stayin' bent all day
And put the lye out in your mug like ashtray
Cabron! Castellano too many people in my cypher bloody up my visiano
Too much weakness the German secret laid my pregame down
You just a hijo slap you with the black heat though
I'm all about my clique blowin' up people showin' up
CNN What! we want the gold nothin less
Buddah bless me caress me bitches here too sex me
Undress me suck me off Crunch much like a Nestle
Suck it off suck it off  suck it off suck me off

Chorus #1 and #2

Artist: Timbaland f/ Mad Skillz, Nas
Album:  Tim's Bio: Life From Da Bassment
Song:   To My
Typed by: OHHLA Webmaster DJ Flash

[Tim] It don't stop
[Nas] Can't stop
[Tim] Say what?
[Nas] Play your parts
[Tim] Uh-huh, it don't stop
[Nas] Nas Esco'
[Tim] Say what?  Huh, uh-huh
[Tim] Uh-huh, it don't stop
[Tim] Uh, uh-huh, uh, uh, uh
[Tim] It don't stop, what?
[Nas] Yea yea, Brave-hearts
[Tim] Guess what y'all?  Check it

Verse One: Nas

I, splash y'all dudes with gats I use
Ice dangle off my chest cause my cash improve
Nice knuckle game, chip-toothed, way of buck and change
I want the dough, fuck the fame
Already made history, y'all can have that, that ain't shit to me
About to have my own ASCAP, and that's that
And plus a rotisserie, instead of Kenny Rogers
and Benihana's, y'all can eat, plenty at Nas'
Buffet of lobsters, dressed in Esco' boxers
With honies that sex so proper, best flow since Rakim
Liver, personification of drama
Describe my, characteristics, murder co-signer
Some will smoke embalmin fluid and vomit to it
I'm straight chronic, yo it's atomic how I blew up
Same ol' G, since I rocked Kangol's, Lee's
Nothin changed but my bankroll, still jig to the ankles

Chorus: Nas

Please, to my niggaz
To my bitches, to my gangsters
To my riders, to my niggaz
To my bitches, to my niggaz
To my riders, to my gangsters
To my bitches, to my niggaz
And fly assholes, to my niggaz
To my bitches, Timbaland and Esco'

[Mad Skillz]
Yo, yo, we rippin tracks, it's like beatin beats with bats
Watchin crews change the views when the heat in they back
If you hear a click, trust me, you wouldn't hear clack
If you push it up front, I got no choice, but to pull it back
Your rhymes don't faze me, I'm above em; half y'all raps is
born retarded, now you out here tryin to get rid of em
You should be sick of it, I posess no flaws
That's from the man that made your Head Nod til you Lick-ed his Balls
Verses I spit em, when it's my turn to get em, I got hot flows
I only do shows for burn victims
So cock this mic, and bust out your back, kill you
And then they gonna blame me for fuckin up rap
Who's fuckin with that?  Skillz and Esco', it's on
When you speak in my direction, watch your tone
From Q-B to V-A, can't count the blocks we own
It's locked and sewn I repeat nigga, watch your tone

Chorus

[Timbaland]
Yo commmmmme see
The big man with the diamonds and the fly Bentleys
Ladies loooooovve me; niggaz say
"Timbaland's really rappin, what the fuck is up B?"
Jeallllllousy
I kill niggaz with seven thangs, most they jackin beats
I'm a eight digit niiggy
Maybe I just rebuild Titanic and send that out to see
What?

Chorus

Artist: Timbaland f/ Mad Skillz, Nas
Album:  Tim's Bio: Life From Da Bassment
Song:   To My
Typed by: OHHLA Webmaster DJ Flash

[Tim] It don't stop
[Nas] Can't stop
[Tim] Say what?
[Nas] Play your parts
[Tim] Uh-huh, it don't stop
[Nas] Nas Esco'
[Tim] Say what?  Huh, uh-huh
[Tim] Uh-huh, it don't stop
[Tim] Uh, uh-huh, uh, uh, uh
[Tim] It don't stop, what?
[Nas] Yea yea, Brave-hearts
[Tim] Guess what y'all?  Check it

Verse One: Nas

I, splash y'all dudes with gats I use
Ice dangle off my chest cause my cash improve
Nice knuckle game, chip-toothed, way of buck and change
I want the dough, fuck the fame
Already made history, y'all can have that, that ain't shit to me
About to have my own ASCAP, and that's that
And plus a rotisserie, instead of Kenny Rogers
and Benihana's, y'all can eat, plenty at Nas'
Buffet of lobsters, dressed in Esco' boxers
With honies that sex so proper, best flow since Rakim
Liver, personification of drama
Describe my, characteristics, murder co-signer
Some will smoke embalmin fluid and vomit to it
I'm straight chronic, yo it's atomic how I blew up
Same ol' G, since I rocked Kangol's, Lee's
Nothin changed but my bankroll, still jig to the ankles

Chorus: Nas

Please, to my niggaz
To my bitches, to my gangsters
To my riders, to my niggaz
To my bitches, to my niggaz
To my riders, to my gangsters
To my bitches, to my niggaz
And fly assholes, to my niggaz
To my bitches, Timbaland and Esco'

[Mad Skillz]
Yo, yo, we rippin tracks, it's like beatin beats with bats
Watchin crews change the views when the heat in they back
If you hear a click, trust me, you wouldn't hear clack
If you push it up front, I got no choice, but to pull it back
Your rhymes don't faze me, I'm above em; half y'all raps is
born retarded, now you out here tryin to get rid of em
You should be sick of it, I posess no flaws
That's from the man that made your Head Nod til you Lick-ed his Balls
Verses I spit em, when it's my turn to get em, I got hot flows
I only do shows for burn victims
So cock this mic, and bust out your back, kill you
And then they gonna blame me for fuckin up rap
Who's fuckin with that?  Skillz and Esco', it's on
When you speak in my direction, watch your tone
From Q-B to V-A, can't count the blocks we own
It's locked and sewn I repeat nigga, watch your tone

Chorus

[Timbaland]
Yo commmmmme see
The big man with the diamonds and the fly Bentleys
Ladies loooooovve me; niggaz say
"Timbaland's really rappin, what the fuck is up B?"
Jeallllllousy
I kill niggaz with seven thangs, most they jackin beats
I'm a eight digit niiggy
Maybe I just rebuild Titanic and send that out to see
What?

Chorus