[Nas]
Yeah, yeah, yeah
You was born in the eighties, pops drove a Mercedes
Did a [bad word] home to some grown [bad word] 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 [bad word] around faster than you think
Blood and white chalk makes pink, so what's that make you? [bad word] 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 n_ggaz from getting stacks
feeling trapped on the block with loose cracks
Wisdom is vital for the survival of the street's disciple [bad word] 
"From the day you were born" (Olu [bad word] sample)
"Starring out, a young disciple" (Nas Sample)
"You had that gleam in your eye" (Olu [bad word] sample)
Disciple of the projects!
"From the day you were born" (Olu [bad word] sample)
"Street's Disciple" (Nas Sample)
"Disciple of the projects" (Olu [bad word] sample)
[Nas] [bad word] stuck, slow as molasses in my actions [bad word] of a fast spliff in the night life
In my flight jacket, adrenaline heightened, mimickin Tyson
after watchin him cut up [bad word] In the gutter, which was once ghetto prophecy is now ghetto scripture
Lookin back at it, blowjobs from pretty crack addicts
Older Gods wantin no static, told some lil' n_ggaz they can have it
Coke baggin and toe-taggin
They took Will, let me describe him, a live one
I think that he was the [bad word] +God's Son+ - not Jesus, but fearless
His ear was up on them sounds too, he'd hear somethin
not to his likin, and say 'Son they bitin you"
He never got to see my debut, wild-mannered
But wild with them hammers, n_ggaz frontin couldn't stand it
Took him off the planet, left us in 9-2
With the philosophy of what arms do, a [bad word] street's disciple [bad word] 
[Nas]
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 [bad word] if I ever let them shovel me, son, in this cell again
F_ck these devil policemen, plush leathers, I need them
Risking my freedom, burners in bubble coats
F_ck a sermon from the neighborhood pope
He's ing ho's, old [bad word]  he's busting ones when he stroke
Multi-colored Pelle Pelle's, young stretch mark bellies
Babies born in a cycle, future disciples [bad word]