Intro: Nas

Yeah yeah, aiyyo black it's time (word?)
(Word, it's time [bad word] )
Yeah, it's time man (aight [bad word]  begin)
Yeah, straight out the [bad word] dungeons of rap
Where fake niggaz don't make it back
I don't know how to start this [bad word]  yo, now

Verse One: Nas

Rappers I monkey flip em with the funky rhythm I be kickin
Musician, [bad word] of pain I'm like Scarface sniffin cocaine
Holdin a M-16, see with the pen I'm extreme, now
Bulletholes left in my peepholes
I'm suited up in street clothes
Hand me a nine and I'll defeat foes
Y'all know my steelo with or without the airplay
I keep some E&J, sittin bent up in the stairway
Or either on the corner bettin grands with the celo champs
Laughin at baseheads, tryin to sell some broken amps
G-Packs get off quick, forever niggaz talk [bad word] Remeniscing about the last time the Task Force flipped
Niggaz [bad word] through the block shootin
Time to start the revolution, catch a body head for Houston
Once they caught us off guard, the Mac-10 was in the grass and
I ran like a cheetah with thoughts of an assassin
Picked the Mac up, told brothers, "Back up," the Mac spit
Lead was hittin niggaz one ran, I made him backflip
Heard a few chicks scream, my arm shook, couldn't look
Gave another squeeze heard it click yo, my [bad word] is stuck
Tried to [bad word] it, it wouldn't shoot now I'm in danger
Finally pulled it back and saw three bullets caught up in the chamber
So now I'm jetting to the building lobby
and it was full of children probably couldn't see as high as I be
(So whatchu sayin?) It's like the game ain't the same
Got youngin' niggaz pullin the triggers bringing fame to they name
and claim some corners, crews without guns are goners
In broad daylight, stickup kids, [bad word] up on us
Fo'-fives and gauges, Macs in fact
Same niggaz'll catch a back to back, snatchin yo' cracks in black
Yo there's a snitch on the block gettin niggaz knocked
So hold your stash 'til the coke price drop
I know this crackhead, who said she gotta smoke nice rock
And if it's good she'll bring ya customers in measuring pots, but yo
You gotta slide on a vacation
Inside information keeps large niggaz erasin and they wives basin
It drops deep as it does in my breath
I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death
Beyond the walls of intelligence, life is defined
I think of crime when I'm in a New York state of mind

("New York state of mind" --> Rakim *repeat 4X*)

Verse Two: Nas

Be havin dreams that I'ma gangster -- drinkin Moets, holdin Tecs
Makin sure the cash came correct then I stepped
Investments in stocks, sewin up the blocks
to sell rocks, winnin gunfights with mega cops
But just a [bad word]  walking with his finger on the trigger
Make enough figures until my pockets get bigger
I ain't the type of brother made for you to start testin
Give me a Smith and Wessun I'll have niggaz undressin
Thinkin of cash flow, buddah and shelter
Whenever [bad word] I'ma hijack Delta
In the P.J.'s, my blend tape plays, bullets are strays
Young [bad word] is grazed, each block is like a maze
full of black rats trapped, plus the Island is packed
From what I hear in all the stories when my [bad word] back, black
I'm livin where the nights is jet black
The fiends fight to get crack I just max, I dream I can sit back
and lamp like Capone, with [bad word] scripts sewn
Or the legal luxury life, rings flooded with stones, holmes
I got so many rhymes I don't think I'm too sane
Life is parallel to [bad word] but I must maintain
and be prosperous, though we live dangerous
cops could just arrest me, blamin us, we're held like hostages
It's only right that I was born to use mics
and the stuff that I write, is even tougher