[Intro: Nas]
    Yeah yeah, aiyyo black it's time (word?)
  (Word, it's time nigga?)
  Yeah, it's time man (aight nigga, begin)
  Yeah, straight out the fuckin dungeons of rap
  Where fake niggaz don't make it back
  I don't know how to start this shit, yo, now
    [Verse One: Nas]
    Rappers I monkey flip em with the funky rhythm I be kickin
  Musician, inflictin composition
  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 Grants with the celo champs
  Laughin at baseheads, tryin to sell some broken amps
  G-Packs get off quick, forever niggaz talk shit
  Remeniscing about the last time the Task Force flipped
  Niggaz be runnin 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
  Pick 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 shit is stuck
  Try to cock 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 filled with children probably couldn't see as high as I be
  (So whatchu sayin?) It's like the game ain't the same
  Got younger niggaz pullin the triggers bringing fame to they name
  and claim some corners, crews without guns are goners
  In broad daylight, stickup kids, they run up on us
  Fo'-fives and gauges, Macs in fact
  Same niggaz'll catch a back to back, snatchin yo' cracks in black
  There was a snitch on the block gettin niggaz knocked
  So hold your stash until 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 mine" --> 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, sewein up the blocks
  to sell rocks, winnin gunfights with mega cops
  But just a nigga, 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 frustrated I'ma hijack Delta
  In the P.J.'s, my blend tape plays, bullets are strays
  Young bitches 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 peoples come 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 drug scripts sewn
  Or the legal luxury life, rings flooded with stones, homes
  I got so many rhymes I don't think I'm too sane
  Life is parallel to Hell 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 than dice
  I'm takin rappers to a new plateau, through rap slow
  My rhymin is a vitamin, Hell without a capsule
  The smooth criminal on beat breaks
  Never put me in your box if your shit eats tapes
  The city never sleeps, full of villians and creeps
  That's where I learned to do my hustle had to scuffle with freaks
  I'ma addict for sneakers, twenties of buddah and bitches with beepers
  In the streets I can greet ya, about blunts I teach ya
  Inhale deep like the words of my breath
  I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death
  I lay puzzle as I backtrack to earlier times
  Nothing's equivalent, to the new york state of mind
    ["New York state of mind" --> Rakim (repeat 4X)]
  ["Nasty Nas" --> cut and scratched 8X]