Book Of Rhymes

(альбом: God's Son - 2002)

Alchemist, you know me, man
I'm the type of nigga that write rhymes
Right on the spot in the studio soon as I hear the track
You know what I'm sayin'?
Word, but I wanted to bring
A couple of books to the studio today, man
I found these shits up in the crib, man, in boxes, man
I don't even remember when I was writing these shits
Or what's in these shits, man
Probably a bunch of bullshit, man... fuck it, check it

How can I trust you when I can't trust me?
Picture myself a old man, a O.G.
Some niggas will conversate with liars all day
Time pass— (Nah, let me start something else)
Soul on ice, death threats given by clowns
I guess living is prison when you live around clowns
I'm hexed, cursed, worse I been blessed first
I thought I was abnormal
'Cause I would overcome any tasked called to
So there it is, I'm a prince, I'm against lames
Who do minor shit, swear they on the top of they game
Your rhyming is called "Vagina Monologue," it kinda supports
Theories of scary niggas who should lie in the morgue
Rarely y'all come in contact with the real
Since Pun passed, he was the last shine of sun I could feel
Yo, said there's a few left since music's expressions of life
Damn, I wish I took more time to write in my book of rhymes

Oh shit, Tina!
I been looking for this bitch number, damn
No, this rhyme is weak
This is weak, I remember this bullshit right here
(My book of rhymes)
Gandhi was a... what the fuck?

Gandhi was a fool, nigga, fight to the death
The US Army is a school that teach you plights of conquest
(I wonder when I wrote this... nah, it's weak)
The money's your religion, sky the limit, live life
Numbers is big business, makes the poor live trife
The glimmers of hope provoke those without dollars to dream
Through your existence become wealthy, knowledge is king
Pimps and card sharks, thieves, murderers with hard luck
Addicts and fiends prostitutes passing for teens is my society
Cops that shoot blacks is routine for notoriety
Grow up watching well-dressed niggas with charms
Beautiful ladies on their arms
Dangerous new cars was my fantasy for Nas
Rubbing my lips with Campophenique
Still behind the ears wet, turned out to be
Pioneers vets amongst hustlers, crack sellers, and liars and squares
(Nah, that was weak there)
My people be projects or jail, never Harvard or Yale
Pardon me type in my two-way while I'm charging my cell
It's hard to be iced up with Gucci, God, poverty's real
I can't fight you, 'cause you would sue me, niggas be groupies
I see imitators trying to make albums, spitting my style
And they don't even realize that I notice they stealing Nas' shit
I pump some Rick James with that Teena Marie
My nina lean on me like Scoob and Scrap
This can't be my book of rhymes

This can't be my book of rhymes, writing this bullshit!
(My book of rhymes)
Nah, never that! Fuck that!
Aw, why you laughing, Alchemist?
Hah, you a funny nigga
Naw, yeah (My book of rhymes)
I'm telling you, I'ma come up with some new shit now
Fuck that! I'ma write again now, fuck that!
I musta been high on some shit... what the fuck is this?!

Look how we treat pregnancy, women in the hood
Our values so low, our values are no good
Things our mothers told us we should've heeded
'Cause now we need it, we older, almost able t—
I'm jealous of you, how come you so beautiful?
Smelling fresh, youthful, intelligent, while I'm stressing and shit
Ayo, I envy you 'cause all you do is smile
And things come your way
Such a innocent child is what some say
I get upset 'cause I just want to be treated the way you are
Like a star, not a worry in this world thus far
But wait a minute, we both need your mother's attention
I must be crazy, jealous of my own baby infant (Kinda crazy)