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Nas, J.Period - Ether (Outtro)

Ether
Nas, J.Period
01:06
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Текст песни

[Intro:]
Fuck Jay-Z!
What's up, niggas? Ayo, I know you ain't talkin' 'bout me, dog. You? What?!
Fuck Jay Z!
You been on my dick, nigga, you love my style, nigga.
Fuck Jay Z!

[Chorus:]
(I) Fuck with your soul like ether,
(Will) Teach you – the king – you know you,
(Not) God's Son across the belly,
(Lose) I prove you lost already.

[Verse 1:]
Brace yourself for the main event, y'all impatiently waitin',
It's like an AIDS test, what's the results? Not positive.
Who's the best: Pac, Nas and B.I.G.? Ain't no best.
East, West, North, South, flossed out, greetings!
I embrace y'all with napalm,
Blows up, no guts left, chest/face gone,
How could Nas be garbage? Semi-autos at your cartilage,
Burner at the side of your dome, come outta my throne!
I got this locked since '91, I am the truest,
Name a rapper that I ain't influenced.
Gave y'all chapters, but now I keep my eyes on the Judas
With Hawaiian Sophie fame, kept my name in his music.

[Chorus:]
(I) Fuck with your soul like ether,
(Will) Teach you – the king – you know you,
(Not) God's Son across the belly,
(Lose) I prove you lost already.

[Interlude:]
Ayo, pass me the weed! Put my ashes out on these niggas, man.
Ayo, you faggots, y'all kneel and kiss the mothafuckin' ring!

[Chorus:]
(I) Fuck with your soul like ether,
(Will) Teach you – the king – you know you,
(Not) God's Son across the belly,
(Lose) I prove you lost already.

[Verse 2:]
I've been fucked over, left for dead, dissed and forgotten,
Luck ran out, they hoped that I'd be gone, stiff and rotten,
Y'all just piss on me, shit on me, spit on my grave,
Talk about me, laugh behind my back, but in my face
Y'all some well-wishers, (Bitch niggas) friendly-actin', envy-hidin' snakes
With your hands out for my money, man, how much can I take?
When these streets keep callin', heard it when I was sleep
That this Gay-Z and Cock-a-Fella Records wanted beef,
Started cockin' up my weapon, slowly loadin' up this ammo
To explode it on a camel and his soldiers,
I can handle this for dolo, and his manuscript just sound stupid
When KRS already made an album called Blueprint. (Dick)
First Biggie's your man, then you got the nerve to say
That you better than B.I.G,
Dick-suckin' lips, why don't you let the late great veteran live?

[Interlude:]
I... will... not... lose!
God's son across the belly,
I prove you lost already.
The king is back, where my crown at?
Ill Will, rest in peace!
Let's do it, niggas!

[Chorus:]
(I) Fuck with your soul like ether,
(Will) Teach you – the king – you know you,
(Not) God's Son across the belly,
(Lose) I prove you lost already.

[Verse 3:]
Y'all niggas deal with emotions like bitches,
What's sad is I love you, ‘cause you're my brother,
You traded your soul for riches.
My child, I've watched you grow up to be famous,
And now I smile like a proud dad watchin' his only son that made it.
You seem to be only concerned with dissin' women,
Were you abused as a child?
Scared to smile? They called you ugly?
Well, life is harsh, hug me, don't reject me
Or make records to disrespect me, blatant or indirectly.
In '88 you was gettin' chased through your building,
Callin' my crib and I ain't even give you my numbers,
All I did was give you a style for you to run with,
Smilin' in my face, glad to break bread with the God,
Wearin' Jaz' chains, no TEC's, no cash, no cars,
No jail bars, Jigga, no pies, no case,
Just Hawaiian shirts, hangin' with little Chase.
You a fan, a phony, a fake, a pussy, a stan,
I still whip yo ass, you 36 in a karate class?
You Tae-Bo ho, tryna work it out, you tryna get brolic?
Ask me if I'm tryna kick knowledge?
Nah, I'm tryna kick the shit you need to learn, though,
That ether, that shit that make your soul burn slow.
Is he Dame Diddy, Dame Daddy or Dame Dummy?
Oh, I get it, you Biggie and he's Puffy.
Rocafella died of AIDS, that was the end of his chapter,
And that's the guy y'all chose to name your company after?
Put it together: I rock hoes, y'all rock fellas,
And now y'all try to take my spot, fellas,
Feel these hot rocks, fellas, put you in a dry spot, fellas,
In a pine box with nine shots from my Glock, fellas,
Foxy got you hot ‘cause you kept your face in her puss,
What you think, you gettin' girls now ‘cause of your looks?
Ne-gro, please! You no-mustache-havin'
With whiskers like a rat, compared to Beans you whack,
And your man stabbed Un and made you take the blame,
You ass, went from Jaz to hangin' with Kane,
To Irv, to B.I.G., and Eminem murdered you on your own shit.
You a dick-ridin' faggot, you love the attention,
Queens niggas run you niggas, ask Russell Simmons! Ha!
R-O-C get gunned up and clapped quick,
J.J. Evans get gunned up and clapped quick,
Your whole damn record label, gunned up and clapped quick,
Shawn Carter to Jay-Z – damn, you on Jaz dick!
So little shorty's gettin' gunned up and clapped quick,
How much of Biggie's rhymes is gonna come out your fat lips?
Wanted to be on every last one of my classics,
You pop shit, apologize, nigga, just ask Kiss!

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