In The End

While I had been following along other blogs for some time and trading mp3's back and forth online as well, starting this site was more of an impulse than anything. You also have to remember that earlier this year Nas seemed to be in the news every single day, so I wanted some way to catalog those stories but also cover his music, new and old, with the history and analysis I thought it deserved. Ten months and a hundred-plus posts later, I'd like to think I accomplished that much. And, as I have been saying since summer, with Nas' new album just released, now seems like a fitting time to close up shop.

Let me just give quick thanks to a couple general groups of people:

1.Guest writers: From John Book, who contributed the first guest piece, to Ill E, who was the brains behind two contributions, having guest writers made up for what I didn't know and took pressure off pending updates. Moreover, Nabs, in particular, was largely responsible for many of the breaking links I may have posted.

2.Other sites / blogs: Since RTA's inception, with gracious referrals from other blogs and message boards, the number of visitors here has been on a steady increase. I didn't start this with industry connections or anything, but it was able to grow thanks to word spreading as it so generously did.

3.Y'all people: I don't have the greatest track record when it comes to staying faithful to long-term projects. Often times, I lose interest real fast, especially online, where, with a couple simple keystrokes, virtually a whole world can be forgotten. Anyway, knowing I had an audience that kept coming back motivated me to keep this whole experiment afloat for as long as I have.

So, thanks.

Stocking Stuffers

As if an entire new album worth of material was not enough, in the time since Hip Hop Is Dead first leaked online and this blog took a little break till now, Nas has kept his name out there on a couple odds and ends. This includes a freestyle, two remixes, and one entirely new song. I've also included an interview Nas did with Flex on Hot 97 earlier this week. It's required listening if only to hear how Live at the Barbeque came to be.

98 FM Freestyle
According to a legendary story, Nas was once such a potent freestyler that after spitting for some time in the company of Biggie, Biggie just had to shrug and say, "there's no way I can follow that." Blunted by time though, in 2006, you'd hardly suspect that was ever true of Nas. As an example, during a recent visit to Detroit's 98 FM, the rapper quickly stumbled on a pre-written verse. Now, a dope freestyler hardly ever equals a dope overall rapper, but it would still be nice to see signs of what once had Big so shook. P.S. The "off the top" stipulation is the revisionist's definition of freestyle.

Look at these clowns that be coming at me / Pac showed 'em how it was done in Makavelli / Exactly . . . who wanna attack me? / When y'all done with the dumb ish, we could break bread / I show you young black brothers how to get ahead / You think I'm not Mr. Entrepreneur / But every time I step out a car, it's from a Bentley door / And that's been happening since '94 / And y'all don't see me talking crack and raw / I hang with gangstas, the kind you never seen before / Or on Lear jets with Webber, no discussions of rap / We talk about American lives that were lost in Iraq / Talk about American lives that were lost in the hood / Al Green ballads and how shit'd never be like it was / Pop bottles for my brothers in prison / Pop bottles for my girls who . . .

That's That Shit (Remix)
This remix of Snoop Dogg's hit song first popped up on LA radio at the beginning of December. A couple weeks later, a radio rip finally made it online, followed by an appearance on a Big Mike mixtape. Initially, I thought it was an official remix; however, given Nas' ad-libs and the lack of a definitive copy, I'm not so sure anymore. Regardless, it's a beat Nas handles with enough humor.

Nas Esco is a menace / My enemy death toll is limitless / Escrow, assets liquidated, we spendin' it / Got you giving these women fits / Got you in Fendi fits / Many gifts, exquisite, most expensive shit / 2009 gear, big rips, you're looking at my D&D collar / For your girl lipstick, ya nitwit / So now you on some wrist-slit / Nas not known for the gossip / You too good to be my side chick / We made the bed rock, then I figure-four leg lock / We did it all, from the shopping mall to the big yacht / With big rocks, see, your ex-man was weak / He ran when I pulled out my cellphone, he thought it was heat / She was torn between us two and things we used to do / But now I'm moved on, I found somebody new

War
"War" is an appropriate title for Nas' contribution to DJ Clue's Professional PT 3. It's not necessarily a song that finds the QB MC in full-on battle-mode, but he certainly attacks the beat strong enough. War also finds Nas revisiting his exaggerated comic book meets religion rhyme style, a nod to Nastier days. Finally, to those who would say this should have been on HHID, well, it's one verse and no hook. Be happy with Money Over Bullshit.

Squinted-eye gangsta / Live in a skyscraper / Platinum Patron-drinker / Stacking that grown paper / God pushed me out his nuts / The Devil swallowed me up / I burnt a hole in his guts / Fell down into a Louis Vitton truck / With stashboxes, and niggas in it saying blast Nas shit / Drove down harm's way puffing that Bombay / QB thug tattoo on my arm say / Names of my fam / So I'ma read you a scripture / And command-ments to get your richer / Bandanas, hammers, MAC's and nina's / With the mismatched Pumas like Shan in Queensbridge / All white shell toes, that's that Queens thing / Brightland, ice wine, call that weed sling / Know where g slang??? / And the bitches with bomb ass that slurp on me and my comrades / Got a new contract / Come on, black / Shit y'all just getting up on, I'm beyond that / No time for crumbs, I really don't see them / They just started living, just started having threesomes / Just started having girls who like them / That's why I got married 'cause my world ain't like them / So why they keep telling those stories? / Nigga, y'all square, nigga, this is my year

You (Remix)
Nas and Andre 3000 finally do a song together, and it's a remix to an R&B track by Lloyd? Oh, okay. As he has grown decidedly more frustrated with the state of Hip-Hop, Nas has name-checked Dre, Atlanta's own pessimist, more and more as well. Nas also has cited the Outkast rapper as one of the last vestiges of creativity in the game. With Dre rumored to be heading back to the studio for something other than singing, we can hope for more collaborations in the future, without Lloyd so much.

Nas be in the crib low / Strip pole in it / Cold Guinness / Bitter taste / Slim waist / I'm gon' hit it / We low key, baby / Like a baritone / Apple computer / E-Mail me to come scoop ya / Run through ya, undo your bra / Give me medulla, ahh / You cute as a movie star / In Sin City, Hennessy / My love slave / Loving this pimp and no rest have' / With none of 'em, I leave everyone one of 'em / You just say it - just leave it where it is / He ain't aware, let sleeping dogs lie / But keep a sharp eye on him 'cause I'm the wrong guy / To wanna put this 4-5 on him / Let's get it on, ma / You got my nose wide open / You already locked down and rocked down / But so delicious / If he get suspicious / Bring up his old mistress / I ain't dry snitching / But why should you be feeling bad / 'Cause I be killing that?

DJ Clue f/ Nas: War
Lloyd f/ Andre 3000 & Nas: You (remix)
Nas: FM 98 Freestyle
Nas: That's That Shit (remix)
BONUS: Nas: 12-19-06 Hot 97 interview

Hope Remix Contest

The final song on Hip Hop Is Dead, Hope, features an acapella Nas. This seems to have been done in part to emphasize Nas' vocals and whatever statement he's making about the future of Hip-Hop; however, there's also the angle that this song will become its own marketing tool, as amateur producer after amateur producer provide their own beat backing to the track. In the short time that the album has been available, many of these remixes have already shown up, some good, some bad, some otherwise. This entry includes a collection of fourteen such remixes.

You can stream or download the fourteen on an invidual basis (links open in a new window). Also, since the premise of this whole thing was originally a "contest", I've added a voting function to the end of this post.

Thanks to everyone who submitted a remix.

Hope (Damn Da Man Remix)

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Hope (Deacon LF Remix)

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Hope (DJ Incise Remix)

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Hope (DJ Pups Remix)

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Hope (Duke Remix)

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Hope (G Dub Remix)

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Hope (Jee Eye Zee Remix)

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Hope (Kay Be Remix)

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Hope (Legit H Remix)

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Hope (Nabs Remix)

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Hope (SBK Remix)

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Hope (Sleeptime Remix)

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Hope (The ARE Remix)

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Hope (Zilla Rocca Remix)

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VOTE: Which Hope remix do you think was the strongest?
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In Loving Memory

The plastic is off, the disc is in the changer, the 19th is finally here.

One of the unbeatable things about having the album physically in your possession is the CD booklet of course. On the artwork side, check the turntables and wax (candles) picture, the half-speaker / half-funeral home image, the chalked-out body surrounded by money rolls, and the black and white close-up of the TRC-931 aka "the ghetto blaster." As for the liner notes, you get a manageable font size, appropriate production credits, and a breakdown of most of what was sampled. And although it may be ironic and unsavory to some to circumnavigate the cultural rite of record store digging, here's a little collection I amassed of just what was sampled. Because, if Hip Hop is dead, then consider this the Big Chill, old friends reuniting over some classic songs. (Corresponding HHID track titles within rar package.)

[SAMPLES]
Bill Withers - Use Me
Carmine Coppola - Marcia Religiosa
Diana Ross - The Interim
Eric B. & Rakim - I Ain't No Joke
Herbie Hancock - Sly
Incredible Bongo Band - Apache
Incredible Bongo Band - In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida
James Brown - Get Up, Get Into It And Get Involved
Marvin Gaye - After The Dance
Nat King Cole - Unforgettable
Steve Miller Band - Take The Money & Run
BONUS - Bob Marley - War
BONUS - Minnie Ripperton - Rainy Day In Centreville

Rebel To America: Hip Hop Is Dead Samples Collection

The Séance Sessions

Hip Hop Is Dead comes out in stores this Tuesday, December 19th, and has been "available" online, from the depths of South Korea, for a couple weeks now. While I didn't want to jumpstart discussion for those RIAA-abiding, discipline-having folks, I have been itching to talk about the album for some while. That, plus the fact that the 19th is right around the corner, makes this as good as time as any.

I've attempted to give each song its own entry for especially concentrated discussion, but if you have any more general reactions to the album or feelings about subsequent controversy, marketing, critical response, etc., lay 'em down here. Also, just because five HHID songs leaked much earlier, don't let that dissuade you from any further or first-time comments.

Black Republican

Can't Forget About You

Hip Hop Is Dead

Hustlers

Where Are They Now?

Money Over Bullshit

Produced by L.E.S. & Wyldfyer.

[NAS]
My niggas got scarred grills
Skully hats and gats be fully's
Brrrat, cars peel, the East Coast cartel
Rats get their tails snapped and trapped
The snitches in the streets and the snitches who rap
Pure euphoria, a dose of death to all of ya
Coroner choruses sung from The Bridge to Astoria
Dreams of falling in the elevator, passing floors
Suddenly stop, the doors open up to a brick wall
I can smell the haters, wishful thinkers, bad luck prayers
Picture your tarot cards and bodyguards getting sprayed up
Sabotaging my makeup, my watches get laced up
Even if they indicted Jacob
Forensics, paramedics carry cowards off
Defibrillator shot to your chest, try to cough
They die and hit Hell from an iron
I'm fly in YSL, I'm paid from this shit
Got bitches high as hell, and they fucking like AIDS don't exist
They get sent to your hotel, I'm made of this shit
Put a barrel in a capo mouth
Till his scalp come out
You a kid, you don't live what you rap about
King poetic, too many haters to count
Too much paper to count

Join me in war, many will live, many will mourn
Money over bullshit, pistols over brawn
Afraid not of none of you cowards but of my own strength
Afraid not of none of you cowards but of my own strength

Got seven candles lit, black wallpaper, black carpet
Thinking about which nigga to target
You kill a nigga today, he lives forever
So I plotted out smarter, there'll be no martyrs
Black TEC on the table, Mag .44
Black negligee on my bitch, she's at the door
Black fish eggs, nigga, that's the caviar
You niggas fish-made, y'all niggas is fifth grade
Niggas, it's fifty ways to die, said the general
If I give ya the top five, you will not survive
Rule 1, cocksucker, keep my name from your tongue
Rule 2, thought ya knew don't fuck with God's Son
Rule 3, see, matter fact, I just wait
If y'all reach top five, then I'ma eat y'all alive
Each one of you guys that claim Hip-Hop is still alive
Like y'all ain't in agreement with Nas

Join me in war, many will live, many will mourn
Money over bullshit, pistols over brawn
Afraid not of none of you cowards but of my own strength
Afraid not of none of you cowards but of my own strength

From crack pushers to Lac' pushers and ambushers
And morticians to fortresses, case-dismisses
Laced in riches, cake ridiculous
From nickel and diming to tricking them diamonds
Vegas, places in Switzerland
From non-blasting to auto, I don't have to blast mine
They blast mine, black nine, you flatline
My cash climb, buy rare art
Antique pieces, Mona Lisa's, own no leases
Five-star restaurant eaters; don't forget who your peeps is
'Sposed to dine with you, sip that good wine with you
Only if they grind with you - or slang for ya
Seen niggas live, laugh, party, and die in that very same corner
Pretty girls glance at us, status unconceivable
Private planes landed out in Teterboro, weed I twirl
Once even gave me a phobia
That I be in a spot trapped like Madame Zenobia's
With this kid eyeing my Rolly, y'all

Nas: Money Over Bullshit

You Can't Kill Me

Produced by L.E.S. & Alvin West.

[NAS]
It was just cool like
Smooth night with my jewels bright
Goons left, goons right
Coupe with blue lights
Bad girls and black pearls
Gave us cat calls
Took 'em back to the crib to break they ass off
In the loft, mixing hash and dro
Honey spreaded that asshole
Like a wide-mouth bass
Sipping wine out the glass
Teddy Pendergrass blast
When the phone ring
The house lights flash
Turn down the sound
Let's get down to business
Shit about to go down with some foul niggas
What the voice said, "what up bop?"
Who want it, I put the guap up
Get the boy popped
He said, "son, stop
It's dude you feeding who feeding
Other dudes, but they really not eating"
"Dog, why you calling me?
This our food . . . you handle the mouths that it trickles down to
Niggas want beef, I want some of that cow too
But I'm in my princely robe, simply rich
Don't bother me with silly shit, call Rico"
He said, "it is Rico" . . . of all people
Gave his moms furs, called up the mayor
To get his crime pardoned, his son's godfather
Said that nigga shot up my cars
Last night he laid for me to come out my doors

Niggas always on that bullshit
To make a nigga wanna open up a full clip
Niggas always on that bullshit
Now your funeral, the preacher's at the pulpit

High, fly, Cinderfella loafer glass
Fold up cash, you ain't heard the soldier's half
You speaking hogwash, silly shit, balderdash
I got the lye sparked, Phillies lit, smoker's jacket on
The son of a Capricorn, my dad's a don
What you think that he spawned, a slacker? Nah
Packed the nines, yo this nigga's asinine
Smack ya mom, relaxed and calm, then mack ya mom
In a casket, you'll get ya fashion on
You'll be in a suit and tie, you'll die
You'll make maggots turn to flies, fucking with Nas
Remember anyone can get it at anytime
Lames'll swear by your name when they lie
Get hit with the lone star, ripped where ya bones are
So tell me how yo' ass gon' run from a CZ-PO1?
In the midst of real steel moves, you a loser
Murk you, with your own shooters
All you want is a name, pissed and insane
My security system, my place by the fireplace, listen
Then it going off, start spitting
Niggas try to bring it where I live in
Trusted you, knew where all of the cribs at
So we waited with the SIGs . . . blat, blat, blat!

Nas: You Can't Kill Me

Carry On Tradition

Produced by Scott Storch.

[NAS]
Some rap pioneers be them crackheads
When they speak, you see missing teeth
Silver chain with a silver piece
Niggas your grandfather's age
They pants still hanging down they legs talking about they ain't paid
And they hate you, 'cause they say, you ain't pay dues
And (Sylvia Robinson) was stealin' and robbin' them
I feel it's a problem we gotta resolve
Hip-Hop been dead, we the reason it died
Wasn't Sylvia's fault or because MC's skills are lost
It's because we can't see ourselves as the boss
Deep-rooted through slavery, self-hatred
The Jewish stick together, friends in high places
We on some low level shit
We don't want niggas to ever win
See, everybody got a label
Everybody's a rapper but few flow fatal
It's fucked up, it all started from two turntables

When they crown you
And you rise up to your position
Carry on tradition
When they knight you
And you go to fight, go to war
Don't petition, carry on tradition
Carry on tradition

Now some of these new rappers got their caps flipped backwards
With their fingers intertwined in some gang-sign madness
I got an exam, let's see if y'all pass it
Let's see who can quote a Daddy Kane line the fastest
Some of you new rappers, I don't understand your code
You have your man shoot you, like in that Sopranos episode
Do anything to get in the game, mixtapes, you spit hate
Against bosses; hungry fucks are moraless
You should be tossed in a pit full of unfortunate vocalists
Niggas, I coulda wrote your shit; I had off-time, was bored with this
I coulda made my double-LP just by sampling different parts of Nautilus
Still came five on the charts with zero audience
The lane was open and y'all was dropping that garbage shit
Y'all got awards for your bricks - it got good to ya
You started telling them bigger dogs to call it quits?!

When they crown you
And you rise up to your position
Carry on tradition
When they knight you
And you go to fight, go to war
Don't petition, carry on tradition
Carry on tradition

Now niggas got the studio poppin', it's mad clearer
Engineers got us earplugs and still hear us
The live-in-the-park sound versus the studio state of art sound
We on the charts now; from British Walkers and Argyles
Look at us rap stars now, with our black cards now
Fortune 500 listed, brunch at Cipriani's
Sipping, blunted, with rich white guys around me
Thick white girls around me, Chinese lined up
Because I'm what every dime lust
We used to be a ghetto secret; can't make my mind up
If I want that or the whole world to peep it
Now carry on tradition
Fuck a wack bum rapper making his career out of dissing
Peace to the struggling artists and dead one's gone, we miss 'em
I promise I carry on tradition

When they crown you
And you rise up to your position
Carry on tradition
When they knight you
And you go to fight, go to war
Don't petition, carry on tradition
Carry on tradition

Nas: Carry On Tradition

Not Going Back

Produced by Stargate.

[NAS]
My man Kool G Rap told me, son, do not look back
Chill up in the mansion with a fat gluteus max, relax
When people ask, school 'em with facts - tell 'em
At this point in my life, I'm all about chilling
Riding around in something sickening and dress fly
It's a twist, homies of mine who just died, I gotta let it ride
That's what I got the public thinking, my nigga
Just because I ain't in the hood don't mean shit, my nigga
I know who died before the body dropped
I know the guns that were used, how much money the shooter got
'Cause on a private yacht I'm still within earshot of it all
The top ten list of the most grimiest guys of all-time is all
We talk when we talk of New York, y'all
Who to call and who to stay away from
Whose mother's address to have just to play it safe, son
Women they lust up so quick to give 'em up
What cars and what trucks they drive and
What towns they spend the most time in, where they grinding
I found out most of them are cowards, they hiding
Behind reputations, that's sour . . . I'm not going back

First thing that happen when you make a little paper
You think the Marriot is living in the skyscraper
Till you come across some even more flyer paper
Realize the five star telles are even greater
Terrycloth robes, elegance, movie shit
Heated up marble floors with jacuzzi's in it
First class flights, diamonds in your cruxifixes
All those things, you still ain't really doing shit kid
Because in reality, I learnt my salary
The way I flaunted it then would now embarass me
It kinda make me wanna hate bling, it's a race thing
How they sell blacks to bootleg shit, in fact
Real millionaires spend sixty mill on paintings
Whores charge niggas with rapings
Because we come out doors of Maybach cars
Watch us make bets on race tracks, smoking cigars
So they count on the laws to take what's ours
About 500k on the lawyer to beat the charge
So you can't stop us from making a billion dollars
Instead of going back, I'm buying the projects

And of course y'all know what I'm not going back to
Those no friends of mine . . . and I'm not going back to
Ten carat gold, no shine . . . and I'm never going back to
Sony if the don't have dough to resign . . . and I'm not going back to
Y'all know that I'm not going back to . . . those liars who would
Not going back to . . . not help you if they could
Not going back to . . . coke on the stove in the hood
Y'all know that I'm not going back . . .

Nas f/ Kelis: Not Going Back

Who Killed It?

Produced by Salaam Remi & Will.I.Am.

[NAS]
Look here, see
Pretty Mike shanked Two-Face Al over some gal
Somebody dead in the aisles
Death by strangulation, microphone cord
A dirty broad, guess they'll never Play It Again, Sam
Damn, that was my jam
Now she's on the lam
She made it out with two-hundred grand, what a scam
While these two compete on whose the star of the show
Golden Legs there makes off with the dough
I read the paper there with Joe the Butcher
He says, one glance is all it took ya
She's a real looker
They say her old man's a bootlegger
Transport in any weather
And at this rate will never get her
Fellas, think it's time I called it a night
All this talk of this mystery dame's getting me tight
Thought I saw her in my eyesight, right
Hate to spoil a party, what you guys having, the same?
Waiter, another round for the gang
It's strange how I always felt out of place
Joe the Butcher's my ace but in comes Freckle Face
So I said, see ya later
Before I hurt him and his two ugly thumb-breakers
You met them in Louisiana wrestling gators
An idiot can tell they're involved with the caper
So I pulled the revolver out my waist up
Between the patrol car and the gray truck
Behind the street lamp was a silhouette
White gloves and a real long cigarette
Whatta ya know, all this time she's got me in the scope
She spoke, says the devil got you guys by the throat
Your conspiracy theories won't work without evidence
That's the reason why Eric B. is not President

Look here, see
I Know You Got Soul, you're trying to hide it
How'd you Kill A Man out in Cypress
One-Eyed Charlie, he only hangs with the Criminal Minded
Says you guys did it Doggystyle, is he lying?
She says, Walk This Way, I'll tell you a Children's Story
We hit the bodega, got a few forties
We jumped in my ride, we drove, and she cried
Twisted Off The Cap there and opened her mouth wide
Swallowed It, whole bottle's half empty
Drinks like a fish, now she's past tipsy
The truth came out as we got to her Suave House
Chopped 'N Screwed her mouth and sat me on the couch
I said, it's getting late, come on, give it to me straight
Who's your sponsor, lady? She says, Bill Gates
Whatta ya born '77 or '78?
She said, nah, it goes way to an earlier date
Slave times, plains of slaves said rhymes
But she fell in love with some fella named Clive
Who? Clive Campbell from Sedgwick Ave
The Bronx; now she shows me the cash
I said, who's Clive? Don't play with me, skirt
She said, Clive Campbell, he's Kool Herc

Listen up, sweetheart
Now we getting somewhere
As she's talking, she starts vanishing in thin air
But before she drops the money bag on the floor and died
She said if you really love me, I'd come back alive

Nas: Who Killed It?

Still Dreaming

Produced by Kanye West.

[NAS]
How you a man waiting for the next man to get rich?
Your plan is to stick out your hand real quick?
So if he feed your family and he serve you shit
Then he need that head you get, and he deserve your bitch
Since you wishing cash fall from the sky all your life
Dwelling on the past when you was alright
When you was getting cash but wasn't too bright
Now your luck down, you feel like busting them shells
Nobody owe you, can't do nothing for self
Want niggas to show you how to come up with green
I schemed since I'm fourteen; what the fuck was your dream?
Rent-A-Car's, little broads, saying you was seen
With little niggas, little chain, you was doing your thing
How high was I? You the thousandth guy
That came around thinking we could see eye to eye
We on a different ech-elon
Coulda got bread together, now you get steaded on

She had several cars
She had credits cards, a castle
Large master bathroom
Getting a pedicure
Bellini by the glass full
Said she been meaning to ask who
In need of cash rules
Who could blast tools
And I'm eating cashews
Knew she was bad news
But we mad cool
Nothing sexual
'Cause I knew her since high school
Grew up with my dudes
Like one of my crew
She work for FOX News
One of her mens that she lent her drop to
Won't come back with it, so she want him clapped in it
Says it's important that it looks like an accident
She was snorting, and her eyes had bags in it
She was recording, had a wire, asking shit
Four days before I came by, she got bagged with bricks
Crossed the line from her world of news casting
To a world of entrapment, a good girl going backwards

Nas f/ Kanye West & Chrisette Michele: Still Dreaming

Blunt Ashes

Produced by Chris Webber.

[NAS]
The making of a mad band
Intricate stories of DeVante Swing
Ava Gardner, the crashing of James Dean
Bobby Brown influenced by Rick James and ???
Prince wanted Alexander O'Neal to be Morris Day or Jerome
But Alex was putting coke in his nose, nigga whylin'
Could be a myth but I swear that the source was close, Phyllis Hyman
Killer herself, it was crazy
Mommy was bad they say
Donny Hathaway freefall from a balcony

As the blunt ash falls into the ash tray
I could see my whole life fly past me
Did I keep it gangsta or keep it classy?
And will the money and fame out last me?
The blunt's ash falls down in the ash tray
Will I see my whole life fly past me?
I'm asking did I keep it gangsta or keep it classy?
Did I . . . anything else you know, just wanna ask me?

Sam trusted Womack with his main lady
He tossing in the grave, like, "this is how you repay me?
A Change Gonna Come, wish you didn't trust me so much"
Marvin said no mountain's high enough, fly stuff
David Ruffin was punching Tammy Terrell, gave her concussions
While the Funk Brothers was laying down the percussion
When Flo from the Surpremes died, Diana Ross cried
Many people said that she was laughing inside

As the blunt ash falls into the ash tray
I could see my whole life fly past me
Did I keep it gangsta or keep it classy?
And will the money and fame out last me?
The blunt's ash falls down in the ash tray
Will I see my whole life fly past me?
I'm asking did I keep it gangsta or keep it classy?
Did I . . . anything else you know, just wanna ask me?

John F. Kennedy's enemies dealt with treachery
It interests me, Judy Campbell in Gucci sandals
She's what a temptress be
The death of Ennis Cosby, what a mystery
Or the Chicagoan Harold Washington
Someone is sabotaging them
Watch out for the traps
Larry Troutman killed his brother Roger Troutman
Then he killed himself, that's the end of Zapp
And I wouldn't change a thing, mistakes of the greats
This is what came from their pain
From their hurt we gain
An unfair exchange

Nas: Blunt Ashes

Hold Down The Block

Produced by Mark Batson.

[NAS]
Feds feast on street dons
Look at their teeth showing
Salivating at the mouth, South to East Orange
Keep pouring that liquor, but nigga don't sleep on it
You'll be giving up your Jesus piece to your peeps to pawn it
For legal fees in the penal dorm
Screaming on the horn with 'bout thirty years on your conscience
I'm watching brothers disappear, it's appalling
Some dudes had just only a year of balling
Counter-intelligence found a strange evidence
Still we behind the wheel with heat on us, hanging with predicates
Position we placed in caves in, so they got us caged in
Ways spinning like Mike Bivens from New Edition aging
I got families I'm feeding 'cause my mans is bleeding
Every five seconds look in all directions
I come through prepared; I give 'em a call
I'm close, bring them guns downstairs

It's beef week
Monday, murder
Two niggas dead, Tuesday
Wednesday and Thursday is hearse-day
Friday, somebody-gotta-die-day
Saturday, put the gat away
Chilling with your chick and a bag of haze
Wondering how it's all gonna end and what type of way
'Cause Sunday back to gunplay
Mo' shit start over nothing
And get finished quick 'cause the art of repercussion
Yeah, I seen it, a g' going out indecent
Taking a plea agreement, thinking he secret
Escape the crime scene, now you live straight like 9:15
Then one-time intervene
My man ain't like me saying I don't care if I die
But the SIG Sauer on me now I'm scared to die
You thinking the one I send to clap you be a shorty
But he old school, holding a .38, he in his forties

Anytime brothers can't get jobs, then they rob
A man rather die than live on his knees and starve
Cops steady asking your man what happened
First he tell then he stop, like he not really rattin'
Guess he not really in that casket from a sawed-off
Listen, peep game from the brain of an all-star
The rain hurt niggas' bones who been shot
Metal pins in their leg, they walk with a limp-hop
The streets lie, so you better be cautious
Your man'll fry you plus, everybody talking
A vet, a general, don't step where I walked in
Make your own path, be a legend in your skin
Make your own cash, don't stress what I'm forcin'
Don't expect more when you put in less work than all them
Queensbridge projects has taught him, and that's for life
You heard me right, I got the block

Nas f/ Mark B. Mayfield: Hold Down The Block

Let There Be Light

Produced by Kanye West.

[NAS]
Let there be light
No gangbanging in New York tonight
Just murals of Biggie Smalls bigger than life
Turn up the kid's mic, because y'all ain't listening right
What's all this talk that Nas got bought?
I'd rather outline my body in white chalk
Ain't nobody been where I been, they at a standstill
This is all overseen by my man Will

This ain't the glorified, just painting of street pictures
There's no guidance or Bibles, just blunts and swishas
Gillette's cut caine in the kitchen
Now every rapper wanna claim he hang with Kenneth Supreme Griffith
It's like the same difference, except when niggas get arraigned
They don't want the same sentence, niggas get to snitching
If I could reverse demises and turn falls to rises
It bring back niggas who was livest
Old hustlers, reminiscing on better days
They home doing nothing, might as well be in the cage
Hating on young brothers, one foot in the grave
They used to love us till we found our own way through the maze
New York set-trippin' and flaggin' got the West Coast laughing
Now Esco's asking what happened
My homegirl from Upper Manhattan
She remembers the Quarters that's Latin
A lot of rat-tat-tat-tatting

The son of the audio cassette era, TEC-wearer
Bullets and baguettes, Benz Bose speaker terror
Demand I get mine till I'm dead, so I can drive something red
Like that horse standing on its hind legs
Since Arnold and Willis in their bunk beds
I wanted bread like Wonder
Not Ned the Wino, like the parents of Lionel
Nas is the ghetto American Idol
No matter what you do, you're never getting my title
I cant sound smart 'cause y'all'll run away
They say I ain't hungry no more, and I don't talk about yay'
Like there's no other way for an ex-hustler
Cake-getter, ex-wig splitter to touch ya - I beg to differ
When you four years in the game, we can have a conversation
Eight years in the game, I invite you on vacation
Ten years in the game, after I've enjoyed my fame
Only then I let you pick my brain

Nas f/ Tre Williams: Let There Be Light

Play On Playa

Produced by Scott Storch.

[NAS]
How much money's enough? Think maybe like the trillion figures
Pray my daughter don't wil' like the Hilton sisters
That'd kill me, yo, filthy rich
My daughter pass it on to the next generation
Throwing carnations at my tombstone
In my new home, meet moms in my Yves St. Laurent suit on
Then we do a dance like my man Luther jam
But my verse came first
I stole change out her purse now I wanna dig her up outta the earth
Too morbid, learn forward toward a new paragraph
Blue carats, D-Class, strictly that kush in that weed bag
Tryna figure out what Berry Gordy had put in production
Studio smoky now, hard like David Ruffin
Hit a spliff through a séance, play on playa

Ruby red grapefruit juice with Grey Goose, rubies in the Jesús piece
Pimped out like Snoop be but an East Coast thing
My girl stocking tied up in a knot, top of my bean head
Billion dollar dream head, went from triple beams to digital
Serving fiends, the minimal - sixty g's, no criminal no mo'
Just mo' dough, mimosas pouring
Oprah's earrings on fingers
While your girl performs cunnilingus
'Cause this big money aroma lingers
Barber cleans his blade then he give me a fade, hot towel on the face
Hot models who vomit after they eat so they can stay lightweight
Swallowing my protein like an Ovaltine shake
Come through like Mo Green from Godfather so clean
Where I step, I Clorox it
Keep twenty g's on both sides of the thighs - that's four pockets
Eighty thousand, browse for the nicest price
But we ain't into buying conflict ice
That's the shit they stole from the Congo and other black soil
True mack for you, nappy hair, just spinning
Honey gave me a massage with the happy ending
Finest females I just came on and sprayed her
Gotta get your papes on, play on playa

Nas f/ Snoop Dogg: Play on Playa

Hope

Produced by Nas and L.E.S.

[NAS]
Ghetto niggas strutting with nothing but dreams in Queens broke
MAC-10's, you can smell the PCP smoke
Mele Mel told it real in the music he wrote
Those were the days I remember
We used to be close, then I was nine, coldest winter I remember
Was slipping in December, two feet of snow
Yeah, that's the East Coast, that black ice
Symbolized the rap life
It was slick and smooth
I understood I had to come from the hood
Doing the Pee Wee Herman, the Smurf
Before them phones chirped
The block's drugs flowing, didn't have your own work
You had to have somebody else's, a small chrome on your pelvis
Starter Jacket, blue Georgetown or green Celtic
Your girl's too expensive, she wants shellfish
Red Lobster was poppin', standing on that line forever
I wish somebody would step on my Bally leather's
Now it's whatever . . . Hip-Hop's forever
Kept my radio on 98 or BLS
Had a pre-pubescent lyric gift but niggas never hear me spit
My little brother tried to warn 'em, I was a tornado coming
He knew from inside, like the eye of a storm and
Told my pops about it; he gave us tickets to that Wild Style flick
Double Trouble, retarded, we was the proudest
I never had a summer job
Sweeping leaves, socks to my knees
Homemade shorts, cutoff Lee's
I ain't work a day in my life
Wiping away eraser of the paper man
I'm just trying to say it right
Big radio, tape slowing down
Lower the lights go, battery dead
I gotta freeze 'em till they ice cold
In the freezer later, I'm staring at the speaker
Sunk in them 808's deeper, cleaning my sneakers
With the bristles of a toothbrush, soap and water
I let the shoe strings soak in water

Nas f/ Chrisette Michele: Hope

Across The Tracks

Nas: Hip Hop Is Dead (2006)
01.Money Over Bullshit (Prod. L.E.S. & Wyldfyer)
02.You Can't Kill Me (Prod. L.E.S. & Alvin West)
03.Carry the Tradition (Prod. Scott Storch)
04.Where Are They Now (Prod. Nas & Salaam Remi)
05.Hip Hop Is Dead (Feat. Will.I.Am) (Prod. Will.I.Am)
06.Who Killed It? (Prod. Salaam Remi & Will.I.Am)
07.Black Republican (Feat. Jay-Z) (Prod. L.E.S. & Wyldfyer)
08.Not Going Back (Feat. Kelis) (Prod. StarGate)
09.Still Dreaming (Feat. Kanye West) (Prod. Kanye West)
10.Hold Down the Block (Prod. Mark Batson)
11.Blunt Ashes (Prod. Chris Webber)
12.Let There Be Light (Feat. Tre Williams) (Prod. Kanye West)
13.Play on Playa (Feat. Snoop Dogg) (Prod. Scott Storch)
14.Can't Forget About You (Feat. Chrisette Michele) (Prod. Will.I.Am)
15.Hustlers (Feat. The Game & Marsha Ambrosius) (Prod. Dr. Dre)
16.Hope (Feat. Chrisette Michele) (Acapella)

This is according to ITUNES, where, if you pre-order the album, you can have access to the bonus track, "Shine On."

To read early reports of some of these songs, many have been discussed in early press coverage. One in particular that was covered but is missing all of a sudden is White Man's Paper, produced by Afrykan and featuring Damian Marley. Take your guess as to why it got cut.

Finally, so as to not leave you empty-handed, here is a very early Nas verse that I was passed along. It sounds like a first draft of Live at the Barbeque almost.

Nas assassinates the pope with a scope
I mutilate mics till my voice box is broke
Try to battle me and gag for breath
Words I speak is a step beyond death

Nas: Nasty Nas verse

Can't Forget About You

This is the second single and the four minutes which Def Jam seems to be betting a lot on. I wonder if Will.I.Am gets an extra check for pulling that off.

Hip-Hop Is Dead . . . December 19th.

[NAS]
There comes a day in your life
When you wanna kick back
Straw hat on the porch
When you old perhaps
Wanna gather your thoughts
Have a cold one, brag
To your grandkids on how life is golden
So I'ma light a cigar in the corridor of the crib
Pictures on the wall of all the things that I did
All the money and fame, 8x10's of the whole Rat Pack inside of a big frame
Colliding with big names that coulda made your career stop
All that, and your man is still here, and I'm still hot
Wow, I need a moment y'all, see I almost felt a tear drop

When was the last time you heard a real anthem?
Nas, the millionaire, the mansion
When was the last time you heard your boy Nas rhyme?
Never on schedule, but always on time

Can't forget about the old school
Bam, Caz, Mele Mel, Flash
Rock Steady spinning on their back
Can't forget when the first rap Grammy went to Jazzy
Fresh Prince - Fat Boys broke up, rap hasn't been the same since
So irregular, how it mess you up when Mr. T became a wrestler
Can't forget about Jordan's retirement
The shot Robert Horry hit to win the game in the finals, kid
Some things are forever, some things are not
It's the things we remember that gave the world shock
They stay in a place in your mind so snug
Like who the person was with whom you first made love

When was the last time you heard a real anthem?
Nas, the millionaire, the mansion
When was the last time you heard your boy Nas rhyme?
Never on schedule, but always on time

Unforgettable, unsubmittable
I go by "N" now, just one syllable
It's the end 'cause the game's tired
It's the same vibe Good Times had right after James died
That's why the gangsta rhymers ain't inspired
Heinous crimes help record sales more than creative lines
And I don't wanna keep bringing up the greater times
But I'm a dreamer, nostalgic with the state of mind
The past the past, enough of it, aight then
But nothing gives me chills like Douglas and Tyson
Or Mike when his talk was live
Or when he first did the moonwalk on Motown 25

When was the last time you heard a real anthem?
Nas, the millionaire, the mansion
When was the last time you heard your boy Nas rhyme?
Never on schedule, but always on time

Nas f/ Chrisette Michele: Can't Forget About You
BONUS: Nas: Can't Forget About You (instrumental)
BONUS: Nat King Cole: Unforgettable