Ether

(álbum: Stillmatic - 2001)

Fuck Jay-Z!
(What's up, niggas?
Ayo, I know you ain't talking about me, dog
You? What?!)
Fuck Jay-Z!
(You been on my dick, nigga
You love my style, nigga)
Fuck Jay-Z!

(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

Brace yourself for the main event, y'all impatiently waiting
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 out of 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

(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

Ayo, pass me the weed!
Put my ashes out on these niggas, man
Ayo, you faggots, y'all kneel
And kiss the motherfucking ring!

(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

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, friendly-acting, envy-hiding snakes
With your hands out for my money, man, how much can I take?
When these streets keep calling, heard it when I was sleep
That this Gay-Z and Cock-a-Fella Records wanted beef
Started cocking up my weapon, slowly loading 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-sucking lips, why don't you let the late great veteran live?

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!

(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

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 watching his only son that made it
You seem to be only concerned with dissing 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 getting chased through your building
Calling my crib and I ain't even give you my numbers
All I did was give you a style for you to run with
Smiling in my face, glad to break bread with the God
Wearing Jaz' chains, no TECs, no cash, no cars
No jail bars, Jigga, no pies, no case
Just Hawaiian shirts, hanging 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 getting girls now 'cause of your looks?
Ne-gro, please! You no-mustache-having
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 hanging with Kane
To Irv, to B.I.G. – and Eminem murdered you on your own shit
You a dick-riding 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 getting 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!