Thief's Theme Lyrics - Nas

One, two 

Check, one, two 

One, two, who got more style, the son do 

{*rewind*} 

One, two 

Check, one, two 

One, two, who got more style, the son do 

Check, one, two 

Yo I'm hot like 95 Fahrenheit 

On a summer night, tight spot where bodies rot 

Rats drink from water drops, in the streets niggas 

Little kids scared cops, wit red dots 

Philosophical gangsta, wit violent priors 

Goin back like black and white TV's wit pliers 

Leanin on broke down cars, wit flat tires 

Flash iron, anybody tryin on, the blocks I'm supplyin on 

Madicon, my peeps, tie ballons up 

And swallow 'em and the P now got goons, lots of 'em 

Cops see them and run, don't want no drama 

Certain parts of the streets, the beast don't want a part of 

Martyr, hood haunted like the Dakota 

Where John Lennon was shot up, but he sang for peace 

He begged for freedom, hanged wit wild Jamicians 

From Kingston, who drink Irish Moss 

Listenin to Peter Winston, Machintosh 

Lightning hits the top of the church steeple 

When I'm writin, semi-automatic no hyphen 

It's frightening... {*scratches*} 

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The thief's theme, play me at night, they won't act right 

Understandable smooth shit, that murderers move wit 

The thief's theme, play me at night, they won't act right 

Understandable smooth shit, that murderers move wit 

The thief's theme, play me at night, they won't act right 

Understandable smooth shit, that murderers move wit 

The thief's theme, play me at night, they won't act right 

Understandable smooth shit, that murderers move wit 

I take summers off, cause I love winter beef 

Started '87, wit the shotty in the sheep 

Three-quarter length beige, dressed to kill 

Bust a shell at the ground, pellets hit the crowd 

Nobody like a snitch, everybody shut they mouth 

Woolrich, Carhart, gun powder stains 

Smellin like trees, sensimille on the brain 

Schemin on ya girl's, bamboos on ya chain 

Got ill up on the train, twistin off a cap 

Of a English in my vein, might of pushed you on the tracks 

Deaf crack fiends, who can't speak, scream noises 

Cause she bought a jum of soap, from one of my boys, it's 

... Just another day in the hood 

And I'm, wit some wild brothers, up to no good 

We saw the movies, like Tony Montana, and 'em 

But our style was let them pile then, we robbin 'em 

Money dudes, make 'em come up out they shoes 

Run they jewels, word is bond, where my man Nino goin 

And I had to make a song, speakin on my old life 

For the thief's who come out at night 

Photos 

One, two 

Check, one, two {*echoes*} 

One, two 

Check, one, two 

One, two, who got more style, the son do {*echoes*} 

{*explosion*}