The Pac diss was a light tap though. Supposedly Crabs in a Barrel is a lot worse. Maybe I'm confusing it with "fukk Hot" though, another notorious unreleased Nas song
Official Nas Thread
- Thread starter Ronald
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The Pac diss was a light tap though. Supposedly Crabs in a Barrel is a lot worse. Maybe I'm confusing it with "fukk Hot" though, another notorious unreleased Nas song
Crabs in a barrel was always the one I heard had the crazy disses going after everyone and fukk Hot was supposed to be going at Hot 97.
Nas said that he and Salaam Remi erased the songs so they’d never leak so maybe the leaks that being shopped are reworked/secondary versions that still didn’t end up making the final tracklisting
Icewatermetallik
TheEastisintheHouse
My face went
"They said they want the old Nas back, play the Clue tapes for old verses! "........
HNIC973
R.I.P Bandana P
Yeah, yeah, yeah
You was born in the eighties, pops drove a Mercedes
Did a bid, coming home to some grown ass kid
Crack baby turn to young thug, description might fit you
Look around it might hit you
No joke, I wanna pistol fight with you
shyt comes around faster than you think
Blood and white chalk makes pink, so what's that make you?
Become a creature of habitat, the average cat
Won't see where it's at, or where it's going
The hood waits for no one
I've been through it from Ewings to Buicks, to body viewings
Car chases to court cases, to fly vacations
From wanting it all, to being the object of your admiration
Imagination is what they lack
It stops nikkas from getting stacks
Feeling trapped on the block with loose cracks
Wisdom is vital for the survival of the street's disciple
Moonstruck stuck, slow as molasses in my actions
That's compliments of a fast spliff in the night life
In my flight jacket, adrenaline heightened, mimicking Tyson
After watching him cut up Razor Ruddock
In the gutter, which was once ghetto prophecy is now ghetto scripture
Looking back at it, blowjobs from pretty crack addicts
Older Gods wanting no static, told some lil' nikkas they can have it
Coke bagging and toe-tagging
They took Will, let me describe him, a live one
I think that he was the true God's Son not Jesus, but fearless
His ear was up on them sounds too, he'd hear something
Not to his liking, and say "Son they biting you"
He never got to see my debut, wild-mannered
But wild with them hammers, nikkas fronting couldn't stand it
Took him off the planet, left us in 9-2
With the philosophy of what arms do, a true street's disciple
Plug the mics up, I'm ready to rock, knocking
Reminiscing of measuring pots of Pyrex, cook in the kitchen
Captain Hook to these infants
It's like my folks is still on the benches
Surrounded by villains and henchmen, was a killer convention
1991, son, gold fronts on the facial, gun buck by the naval
Disciple could blaze you, we laced it with embalming fluid
Rhyming to music all this time
Fighting 'bout how Kane and Rakim would do it
Seemed impossible to us that we could ever leave
From the block, where the world was forever freezing
Hell if I ever let them shovel me, son, in this cell again
fukk these devil policemen, plush leathers, I need them
Risking my freedom, burners in bubble coats
fukk a sermon from the neighborhood pope
He's sexing ho's, old fart, he's busting ones when he stroke
Multi-colored Pelle Pelle's, young stretch mark bellies
Babies born in a cycle, future disciples
Literally lost his fukking mind
HNIC973
R.I.P Bandana P
Hmmm
Yeah, yeah, yeah
You was born in the eighties, pops drove a Mercedes
Did a bid, coming home to some grown ass kid
Crack baby turn to young thug, description might fit you
Look around it might hit you
No joke, I wanna pistol fight with you
shyt comes around faster than you think
Blood and white chalk makes pink, so what's that make you?
Become a creature of habitat, the average cat
Won't see where it's at, or where it's going
The hood waits for no one
I've been through it from Ewings to Buicks, to body viewings
Car chases to court cases, to fly vacations
From wanting it all, to being the object of your admiration
Imagination is what they lack
It stops nikkas from getting stacks
Feeling trapped on the block with loose cracks
Wisdom is vital for the survival of the street's disciple
Moonstruck stuck, slow as molasses in my actions
That's compliments of a fast spliff in the night life
In my flight jacket, adrenaline heightened, mimicking Tyson
After watching him cut up Razor Ruddock
In the gutter, which was once ghetto prophecy is now ghetto scripture
Looking back at it, blowjobs from pretty crack addicts
Older Gods wanting no static, told some lil' nikkas they can have it
Coke bagging and toe-tagging
They took Will, let me describe him, a live one
I think that he was the true God's Son not Jesus, but fearless
His ear was up on them sounds too, he'd hear something
Not to his liking, and say "Son they biting you"
He never got to see my debut, wild-mannered
But wild with them hammers, nikkas fronting couldn't stand it
Took him off the planet, left us in 9-2
With the philosophy of what arms do, a true street's disciple
Plug the mics up, I'm ready to rock, knocking
Reminiscing of measuring pots of Pyrex, cook in the kitchen
Captain Hook to these infants
It's like my folks is still on the benches
Surrounded by villains and henchmen, was a killer convention
1991, son, gold fronts on the facial, gun buck by the naval
Disciple could blaze you, we laced it with embalming fluid
Rhyming to music all this time
Fighting 'bout how Kane and Rakim would do it
Seemed impossible to us that we could ever leave
From the block, where the world was forever freezing
Hell if I ever let them shovel me, son, in this cell again
fukk these devil policemen, plush leathers, I need them
Risking my freedom, burners in bubble coats
fukk a sermon from the neighborhood pope
He's sexing ho's, old fart, he's busting ones when he stroke
Multi-colored Pelle Pelle's, young stretch mark bellies
Babies born in a cycle, future disciples
Literally lost his fukking mind
Nas is greatest of all time
Yeah, yeah, yeah
You was born in the eighties, pops drove a Mercedes
Did a bid, coming home to some grown ass kid
Crack baby turn to young thug, description might fit you
Look around it might hit you
No joke, I wanna pistol fight with you
shyt comes around faster than you think
Blood and white chalk makes pink, so what's that make you?
Become a creature of habitat, the average cat
Won't see where it's at, or where it's going
The hood waits for no one
I've been through it from Ewings to Buicks, to body viewings
Car chases to court cases, to fly vacations
From wanting it all, to being the object of your admiration
Imagination is what they lack
It stops nikkas from getting stacks
Feeling trapped on the block with loose cracks
Wisdom is vital for the survival of the street's disciple
Moonstruck stuck, slow as molasses in my actions
That's compliments of a fast spliff in the night life
In my flight jacket, adrenaline heightened, mimicking Tyson
After watching him cut up Razor Ruddock
In the gutter, which was once ghetto prophecy is now ghetto scripture
Looking back at it, blowjobs from pretty crack addicts
Older Gods wanting no static, told some lil' nikkas they can have it
Coke bagging and toe-tagging
They took Will, let me describe him, a live one
I think that he was the true God's Son not Jesus, but fearless
His ear was up on them sounds too, he'd hear something
Not to his liking, and say "Son they biting you"
He never got to see my debut, wild-mannered
But wild with them hammers, nikkas fronting couldn't stand it
Took him off the planet, left us in 9-2
With the philosophy of what arms do, a true street's disciple
Plug the mics up, I'm ready to rock, knocking
Reminiscing of measuring pots of Pyrex, cook in the kitchen
Captain Hook to these infants
It's like my folks is still on the benches
Surrounded by villains and henchmen, was a killer convention
1991, son, gold fronts on the facial, gun buck by the naval
Disciple could blaze you, we laced it with embalming fluid
Rhyming to music all this time
Fighting 'bout how Kane and Rakim would do it
Seemed impossible to us that we could ever leave
From the block, where the world was forever freezing
Hell if I ever let them shovel me, son, in this cell again
fukk these devil policemen, plush leathers, I need them
Risking my freedom, burners in bubble coats
fukk a sermon from the neighborhood pope
He's sexing ho's, old fart, he's busting ones when he stroke
Multi-colored Pelle Pelle's, young stretch mark bellies
Babies born in a cycle, future disciples
Literally lost his fukking mind
One of his most overlooked songs, he absolutely floated on this
Metal Face
Superstar
.
Last edited:
HNIC973
R.I.P Bandana P
Slim Charles
All Star
Is there any rumours on the surprise one?
Edit: ah just remembered possibly Slick Rick?
Edit: ah just remembered possibly Slick Rick?