Artist/Band:
Nas
Lyrics for Song: Zone Out
Lyrics for Album: God's Son [2002]
Braveheart for life
[sample - repeated 8x "Z-z-z-zone Out"]
Salaam Remi. Yea, What, Yea
Why don't y'all blast on these niggas, man
Tuck in your chain put your watch in your pocket
Here come the Bravehearts straight out the projects
We live the life where the blood spills
Same thing that get you cash nigga, get you killed
Warnin', Jungle always keep a gun on him
Pull out, {*shooting sound*}, four head yawnin'
Sloppy, droppin' you herbs
Close range so my bullets don't swerve, curve
No bullshit
Back of your head vomit
Call Earl, death is the ways of the world
Y'all made criminals
Tryin' to wild nowadays sold crack, bust guns at Bow Wow's age
Fightin' in jail, lookin' for heaven, livin' in hell
Fuckin 'em hos, boilin' coke since I was 12
Way too foul walk around all the time
With a gray Mack 10 and a pocket full o' dimes
Braveheart to the graveyard, let's go niggas
Scared straight, but FUCK them hos
Keep it, dead serious
Believe it don't believe us, until you see me creepin',
Now you sleep with them fishes
G-W-I-Z, so delicious
To all them ghetto and sober bitches in 'burban districts
I'm movin on past you chumps, and very thoroughly promoted by God's Son
And this is the military turn it up
My uzi weighs a ton, your son let's thump nah
Heat talk feet walk you run uh
Rat ta-tat, Hear them shots come
Drop son, pull out
You better send 'em back son, or feel that casket
The peeps be like one (one)
I'm movin on past you chumps, and very thoroughly promoted by God's Son
G-O-D S-O-N I S-O-O-T-H-E a female's estrogen
With my testosterone, male hormone
Enough for a giant's body, science S-C-I-E-N-C-E
Don't tempt me, EMS will get you, me I'm just, invincible
Like Mike Jack said, for me and Al Sharpton won't be Broke in Harlem
That's dead, who made this style, solo or X
Or UTFO's doctor or Mo Dee
Whoever, I freaked it yes, so meet ya death
I never wear Esco, I got a New Line comin' like cinemas
Remember the, original, y'all still tryina show niggas you're rich
Town house niggas
I'm six cribs deep, six bank accounts in six countries
Na I'm lyin', who gives a fuck that's so tired
While pictures of Bravehearts just livin' it up
A million of us, each nigga itchin' to bust
You got a house in Virginia
The only way you sicker than us
Gettin' bagged with .22's now you's a ridiculous fuck
No need for the gun play, it's ok, 'cause you dyin' anyway (faggot)
Yo, this is for them High school drop outs
Niggas in court who copped out
If you prefer shots over knockouts
Sniffin' coke, smokin' weed
Sellin' crack, sellin' smack
You thuggin' and you ain't turnin back
Braveheart's gettin' money ruthless 'till the world end
Gettin' high with my enemy's girlfriend
I used to have the bike on a bench
Now I got the jeep on the strip
Coke in the pot, heat on my hip
Nigga dont stop blazin' cuz ya target's movin'
Shoot 'till the gun's empty stupid, Queens
Niggas so ruthless, really excuses is
Useless to these swift executioners
And thats Queensbridge nigga, all day
Pump packs o' crack, smoke purple haze
Runnin from D's quick to knockout rookies
G Wiz you know what I'm 'bout
To all my real niggas
[sample - repeated until end "Z-z-z-zone Out"]
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