This is the Fugees, outsiders up in here Everyone wants to be a cowboy Grab your guns boy Forty-five by my side No the nigger dies Zen, zen, zen, zen
the city is incredible with no album out I'm blessed nigga, I'm blessed When I'm all alone these words just flow out of my chest Turn 'em into poems,
tell you what I know, what I know Oh my God, I destroy cities like the Blob Goin' from city to city, seein' who I can rob Goin' from makin' them poems
style begun To uplift the mind, boy I'll bring out the sun You trapped in this rap in this world bizarre And ya hit pretty hard in the city of frauds
Say what you want and leave your shyness home Do what you want and write a little poem Leave it for her and live another day And you should eave it for
Break! A tragic poem that forever burns on my brain. Can we ever forgive love for its pain? The city's sweat is scaring her into her dreams As the songs
another key another door 10% literal 90% metaphor 3000 some poems disguised as people on an almost too perfect day must be more than poems in some
is there, yeah yeah See I come from Mississippi I was young and runnin' wild Ended up in New York City, where I had my first child I named the boy Nasir
", Paul McCane its my ball and chain, mi amor. Hopefully I won't fall and hang, like pictures on the wall or halls of fame. Its jus a boy man, look
city boy. Because to me, he's so much more. He helped me believe things are more than they seem, and I have some hope. Not just a typical city boy. She
I've moved to the West Coast Where I've got music to compose But I do miss home Just a small town boy in this big city And I play alone on the LA scene
things, that's on my mind When I be sliding by, in my city (in my city) It's the things, that's on my mind When I be sliding by, in my city (in my city
mind, boy I'll bring out the sun [Chorus x2: U-God] You trapped in this rap in this world bizarre And ya hit pretty hard in the city of frauds but uplift
wife", Paul McCane its my ball and chain, mi amor. Hopefully I won't fall and hang, like pictures on the wall or halls of fame. Its jus a boy man, look
came its my ball and chain me or more hopefully i wont fall or hang like pictures on the walls, the halls of fame its just a boy man...look at what it
(inspired by the WTC disaster) yes, us people are just poems we're 90% metaphor with a leanness of meaning approaching hyper-distillation and once
York City (Yeah!) Where I had my first child (That's me) I named the boy Nasir (Yeah, Daddy!) All the boys call him Nas (Luh ya, boy) I told him as a
us We're not responsible, got a hurt All those tears hidden behind your words Oh Big City boy so sad and so alone And this misery reflects in your poems
