Streets Disciple Lyrics - Street's Disciple - Nas

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 

Shit 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 niggaz from getting stacks 

feeling trapped on the block with loose cracks 

Wisdom is vital for the survival of the street's disciple 

Related 

27 Best Ever Songs From Movie Soundtracks 

LATEST SONG: Fat Joe, Dre, Lil Wayne - 'Pullin' - LYRICS 

NEW SONG: Machine Gun Kelly - 'Candy' Lyrics feat. Trippie Redd 

"From the day you were born" (Olu Daru sample) 

"Starring out, a young disciple" (Nas Sample) 

"You had that gleam in your eye" (Olu Daru sample) 

Disciple of the projects! 

"From the day you were born" (Olu Daru sample) 

"Street's Disciple" (Nas Sample) 

"Disciple of the projects" (Olu Daru sample) 

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, mimickin Tyson 

after watchin him cut up Razor Ruddock 

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' niggaz 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 true +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, niggaz frontin 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 

Photos 

Plug the mics up, I'm ready to rock, knocking 

Reminiscing of measuring pots of Pyrex, cook in the kitchen 

Captain 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 

Fuck these devil policemen, plush leathers, I need them 

Risking my freedom, burners in bubble coats 

Fuck 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