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I' m a Villain Nas |
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I' m the nigga walkin' with |
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his finger on the trigger |
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Make enough figures until |
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my pockets get bigger |
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I ain' t the type of brother |
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made for you to start testin' |
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Gimme a Smith N Wesson |
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I' ll have niggas undressin' |
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I' m rollin' with a mob and |
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runnin' from the cops |
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Drive stolen cars and |
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shoot many Glocks |
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A marijuana addict, |
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if niggas want static |
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They had it, cause |
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I flip just like a acrobatic |
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I' m always on the |
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corners rollin' up Sess |
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When I dress it' s never |
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nothin' less than Guess |
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So I walk with a bop |
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and my hat turned back |
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Love commitin' sins and |
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my friends sell crack |
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I got it goin' on, |
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my knuckle game is strong |
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Sip Dom Pé rignon |
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and then carry on |
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Army certified, keep a Rent A Ride |
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Strippin' mad hoes and |
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kick em to the side |
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See I' m the type of brother |
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who keeps a four pounder |
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Start a lot of shit and |
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shoot at out of towners |
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At every block party, |
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I try to catch a body |
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Or for props, till |
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your pops call the cops |
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See now I' m on the run, |
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but still havin' fun |
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Livin' by the Mac, my |
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gear is all black |
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I keep killin', because |
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I' m ready and I' m willin' |
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|
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And I' m a villian |
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What |
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What |
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Wha a a t |
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|
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I got beef with the President |
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and still lovin' it |
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Tryin' to make plans to |
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overthrow the government |
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|
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It won' t work cause niggas |
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don' t believe enough |
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They' d rather stand on the |
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corners and receive a cuff |
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I' m runnin' rich, you don' t |
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like the sound of this |
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Rebel, but this country |
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doesn' t want me |
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They' d rather hunt me, |
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but they' d never catch us all |
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Why you fuck in with the dealers |
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while you' re sticking up the malls? |
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Full of anger, all about danger |
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Pullin' out my banger, |
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stabbin' up a stranger |
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|
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I hear Walkie Talkies in my sleep |
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I use a whole lot of |
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slang when I speak |
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Walkin' with a vest, |
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the projects is where I rest |
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|
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And the streets keep me stressed |
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Staring at your face, |
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waiting for you to make a sound |
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That' s when I take you down, |
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shoot you up and suit you up |
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All in black, and put you in a box |
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A hard rock with a . 25 in my socks |
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Aiming at your temple, |
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so take the diamonds off your hands |
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I' m buckwild like Billy Van Danns |
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|
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Prince of pistolers, |
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words are crystal clear |
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And issues of fear |
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|
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The maniac keeps killing, |
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I' m known as a outlaw |
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Cause I' m a villain |
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I keep pullin' tricks out |
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the barrels of a Magnum |
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Put em to sleep and leave |
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the Doc to tag them |
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A outlaw, although |
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I never wear a holster |
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In every county you see |
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my face that' s on a poster |
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Hear so many gunshots |
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my eardrums should pop |
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I sight ya stop, |
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I' m seeing mad niggas drop |
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To the concrete, I got police |
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puttin' chalk on the street |
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And this is done once a week |
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I' m out to kill, like Navy Seals |
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I' m crazy ill, and what |
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I can' t do my . 380 will |
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I never play with a AK |
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Because I' m fine with a. 9 and if |
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caught I' ll do lesser time |
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|
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Sometimes you gotta plan shit, |
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and understand it |
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See I' m a bandit whose hand' ll itch |
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Without a gun in it, Nas is runnin' it |
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I stay blooded I' m the |
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project' s most wanted |
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|
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My voice is like magic |
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My cassette is the clip and |
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your radio' s the Automatic |
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So when I' m in your town, ' duck down' |
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I take fire whatever you desire |
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|
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But I' m on point you might miss |
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Never fight this, should be |
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sightless when I strike this |
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So roll the dice, |
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I' m stoppin' a blimp |
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It' s ill how I got the |
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pen droppin' the ink |
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|
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No one can stop this Apocalypse |
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Show your record player a method |
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layer so run until you' re Mayor |
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Nas the parlayer, you |
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|
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better say your prayer |
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I' m the New York City slayer |
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I play high post and then lay low |
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Parlay slow I wear horns, not a halo |
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And keep killin' |
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Cause I' m a villian |
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