This is one of my favorite songs. https://fnfgo.io
Fake thug, no love, you get the slug, CB4 Gusto
Your luck low, I didn't know 'til I was drunk though
You freak niggas played out, get fucked and ate out
Prostitute turned bitch, I got the gauge out
96 ways I made out, Montana way
The Good-F-E-L-L-A, verbal AK spray
Dipped attache, jumped out the Range, empty out the ashtray
A glass of 'Ze make a man Cassius Clay
Red dot plots, murder schemes, thirty-two shotguns
Regulate with my dunn's, 17 rocks gleam from one ring
They let me let y'all niggas know one thing
There's one life, one love, so there can only be one King
The highlights of living, Vegas style roll dice in linen
Antera spinning on milleniums, twenty G bets I'm winning them
Threats I'm sending them, Lex with TV sets the minimum
Ill sex adrenaline
Party with villains, a case of Demi-Sec to chase the Henny
Wet any clique, with the semi TEC who want it?
Diamonds I flaunt it, chicken-heads flock I lace 'em
Fried broiled with basil, taste 'em, crack the legs
Way out of formation, it's horizontal how I have 'em
Fucking me in the Benz wagon
Can it be Vanity from Last Dragon?
Grab your gun it's on though
Shit is grimy, real niggas buck in broad daylight
With the broke MAC it won't spray right
Don't give a fuck who they hit, as long as the drama's lit
Yo, overnight thugs, bug 'cause they ain't promised shit
Hungry-ass hooligans stay on that piranha shit
(I never sleep, 'cause sleep is the cousin of death)
(I ain't the type of brother made for you to start testing)
(I never sleep, 'cause sleep is the cousin of death)
(I ain't the type of brother made for you to start testing)
(I never sleep, 'cause sleep is the cousin of death)
(I ain't the type of brother made for you to start testing)
(I never sleep, 'cause sleep is the cousin of death)
(I ain't the type of brother made for you to start testing)
I peeped you frontin', I was in the Jeep
Sunk in the seat, tinted with heat, beats bumpin'
Across the street you was wildin'
Talkin' 'bout how you ran the Island in '89
Layin' up, playin' the yard with crazy shine
I cocked a baby 9 that nigga grave be mine, clanked him
What was he thinking on my corner when it's pay me time?
Dug 'em, you owe me cousin, something told me plug him
So dumb, felt my leg burn, then it got numb
Spun around and shot one, heard shots and dropped son
Caught a hot one, somebody take this biscuit 'fore the cops come
Then they came asking me my name, what the fuck
I got stitched up and went through
Left the hospital that same night, what
Got my gat back, time to backtrack
I had the drop so how the fuck I get clapped?
Black was in the Jeep watching all these scenes speed by
It was a brown Datsun, and yo nobody in my hood got one
That clown nigga's through, blazin' at his crew daily
The 'Bridge touched me up severely, hear me?
So when I rhyme it's sincerely yours
Be lightin' L's sippin' Coors, on all floors of project halls
Contemplatin' war niggas I was cool with before
We used to score together, Uptown copping the raw
But uh, a thug changes, and love changes
And best friends become strangers, word up
(Y'all know my steelo)
(There ain't an army that could strike back)
(Y'all know my steelo)
(There ain't an army that could strike back)
(Y'all know my steelo)
(There ain't an army that could strike back)
(Y'all know my steelo)
(There ain't an army that could strike back)
Thug niggas, yo, to them thug niggas
Gettin' it on in the world, you know?
To them niggas that's locked down
Doin' they thing, survivin', ya know'm sayin'?
To my thorough niggas, New York and worldwide
Yo, to the Queensbridge Militia, yo
'96 shit, The Firm clique
Illmatic, nigga, It Was Written though
It's been a long time comin'
Y'all fake niggas, tryna copy
Better come with the real though
Fake-ass niggas, yo
(They throw us slugs, we throwin' them back, what)
Bring the shit, man, live, man
(Fuck that son, word up) '96 shit
Your luck low, I didn't know 'til I was drunk though
You freak niggas played out, get fucked and ate out
Prostitute turned bitch, I got the gauge out
96 ways I made out, Montana way
The Good-F-E-L-L-A, verbal AK spray
Dipped attache, jumped out the Range, empty out the ashtray
A glass of 'Ze make a man Cassius Clay
Red dot plots, murder schemes, thirty-two shotguns
Regulate with my dunn's, 17 rocks gleam from one ring
They let me let y'all niggas know one thing
There's one life, one love, so there can only be one King
The highlights of living, Vegas style roll dice in linen
Antera spinning on milleniums, twenty G bets I'm winning them
Threats I'm sending them, Lex with TV sets the minimum
Ill sex adrenaline
Party with villains, a case of Demi-Sec to chase the Henny
Wet any clique, with the semi TEC who want it?
Diamonds I flaunt it, chicken-heads flock I lace 'em
Fried broiled with basil, taste 'em, crack the legs
Way out of formation, it's horizontal how I have 'em
Fucking me in the Benz wagon
Can it be Vanity from Last Dragon?
Grab your gun it's on though
Shit is grimy, real niggas buck in broad daylight
With the broke MAC it won't spray right
Don't give a fuck who they hit, as long as the drama's lit
Yo, overnight thugs, bug 'cause they ain't promised shit
Hungry-ass hooligans stay on that piranha shit
(I never sleep, 'cause sleep is the cousin of death)
(I ain't the type of brother made for you to start testing)
(I never sleep, 'cause sleep is the cousin of death)
(I ain't the type of brother made for you to start testing)
(I never sleep, 'cause sleep is the cousin of death)
(I ain't the type of brother made for you to start testing)
(I never sleep, 'cause sleep is the cousin of death)
(I ain't the type of brother made for you to start testing)
I peeped you frontin', I was in the Jeep
Sunk in the seat, tinted with heat, beats bumpin'
Across the street you was wildin'
Talkin' 'bout how you ran the Island in '89
Layin' up, playin' the yard with crazy shine
I cocked a baby 9 that nigga grave be mine, clanked him
What was he thinking on my corner when it's pay me time?
Dug 'em, you owe me cousin, something told me plug him
So dumb, felt my leg burn, then it got numb
Spun around and shot one, heard shots and dropped son
Caught a hot one, somebody take this biscuit 'fore the cops come
Then they came asking me my name, what the fuck
I got stitched up and went through
Left the hospital that same night, what
Got my gat back, time to backtrack
I had the drop so how the fuck I get clapped?
Black was in the Jeep watching all these scenes speed by
It was a brown Datsun, and yo nobody in my hood got one
That clown nigga's through, blazin' at his crew daily
The 'Bridge touched me up severely, hear me?
So when I rhyme it's sincerely yours
Be lightin' L's sippin' Coors, on all floors of project halls
Contemplatin' war niggas I was cool with before
We used to score together, Uptown copping the raw
But uh, a thug changes, and love changes
And best friends become strangers, word up
(Y'all know my steelo)
(There ain't an army that could strike back)
(Y'all know my steelo)
(There ain't an army that could strike back)
(Y'all know my steelo)
(There ain't an army that could strike back)
(Y'all know my steelo)
(There ain't an army that could strike back)
Thug niggas, yo, to them thug niggas
Gettin' it on in the world, you know?
To them niggas that's locked down
Doin' they thing, survivin', ya know'm sayin'?
To my thorough niggas, New York and worldwide
Yo, to the Queensbridge Militia, yo
'96 shit, The Firm clique
Illmatic, nigga, It Was Written though
It's been a long time comin'
Y'all fake niggas, tryna copy
Better come with the real though
Fake-ass niggas, yo
(They throw us slugs, we throwin' them back, what)
Bring the shit, man, live, man
(Fuck that son, word up) '96 shit
Lyrics submitted by spliphstar
The Message Lyrics as written by Dominic James Miller Nasir Jones
Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Sentric Music, Downtown Music Publishing, Songtrust Ave, Cloud9
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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Same ideas expressed in Fitter, Happier are expressed in this song. We're told to strive for some sort of ideal life, which includes getting a good job, being kind to everyone, finding a partner, getting married, having a couple kids, living in a quiet neighborhood in a nice big house, etc. But in Fitter, Happier the narrator(?) realizes that it's incredibly robotic to live this life. People are being used by those in power "like a pig in a cage on antibiotics"--being pacified with things like new phones and cool gadgets and houses while being sucked dry. On No Surprises, the narrator is realizing how this life is killing him slowly. In the video, his helmet is slowly filling up with water, drowning him. But he's so complacent with it. This is a good summary of the song. This boring, "perfect" life foisted upon us by some higher powers (not spiritual, but political, economic, etc. politicians and businessmen, perhaps) is not the way to live. But there is seemingly no way out but death. He'd rather die peacefully right now than live in this cage. While our lives are often shielded, we're in our own protective bubbles, or protective helmets like the one Thom wears, if we look a little harder we can see all the corruption, lies, manipulation, etc. that is going on in the world, often run by huge yet nearly invisible organizations, corporations, and 'leaders'. It's a very hopeless song because it reflects real life.
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Head > Heels
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This song is pretty much ambigous until you ask Nas who he was talking about on certain lines. I think the intro-- "fake thug, no love, you get the slug, CB4 gusto your luck low I didn't know till I was drunk, though" is about 2 pac. I was on a Nas board, a while back, and someone said that 2 pac and Nas had a meeting at a bar before both disses were released. Pac talked to him in great depth--I think the "I didn't know till I was drunk, though" is in reference to that meeting.
Then this line-- "You freak niggaz played out, get fucked and ate out Prostitute turned bitch, I got the gauge out"
I think he's calling Tupac a prostitue because many people fell that the whole East coast West coast beef was created by Tupac as a way of furthering his record sales. I think Nas is calling him a prostitue of the recording industry.
I can't really say where he was trying to go with the little story in the second verse. Pretty crazy song.