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    nas the message

    LE SON DU JOUR : « The Message », Nas

    « The Message », extrait du deuxième album de Nas, It was written (1996), est un sample de la chanson « Shape of my heart » de Sting.  Dans ce morceau, produit par The Trackmasters, on entend le scratching de Kid Capri, tandis que le rappeur du Queens nous raconte sa thug life.

    « Fake thug, no love, you get the slug, CB4 Gusto
    Your luck low, I didn’t know til I was drunk though
    You freak niggaz 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 wit my Dunn’s, 17 rocks gleam from one ring
    Yo let me let y’all niggaz know one thing
    There’s one life, one love, so there can only be one King
    The highlights of livin, Vegas style roll dice in linen
    Antera spinnin on Milleniums, twenty G bets I’m winnin them
    Threats I’m sendin them, Lex with TV sets the minimum
    Ill sex adrenaline
    Party with villians, a case of Demi-Sec to chase the Henny
    Wet any clique, with the semi-tech who want it
    Diamonds I flaunt it, chickenheads flock I lace em
    Fried broiled with basil, taste em, crack the legs
    way out of formation, it’s horizontal how I have em
    fuckin me in the Benz wagon
    Can it be Vanity from Last Dragon
    Grab your gun it’s on though
    Shit is grimy, real niggaz 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 testin

    I peeped you frontin, I was in the Jeep
    Sunk in the seat, tinted with heat, beats bumpin
    Across the streat you was wildin
    Talkin bout how you ran the Island in eighty-nine
    Layin up, playin the yard with crazy shine
    I cocked a baby 9 that nigga grave be mine, clanked him
    What was he thinkin on my corner when it’s pay me time
    Dug em you owe me cousin somethin 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 askin 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 to drop so how the fuck I get clapped
    Black was in the Jeep watchin 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 in project halls
    Contemplatin war niggaz I was cool with before
    We used to score together, Uptown coppin the raw
    But uhh, 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

    Thug niggaz
    Yo, to them thug niggaz gettin it on in the world you know?
    To them niggaz that’s locked down
    doin they thing survivin yaknowmsayin?
    To my thorough niggaz, New York and world wide
    Yo to the Queensbridge Militia
    9-6 shit.. The Firm clique, Illmatic nigga
    It Was Written though
    It’s been a long time comin
    Y’all fake niggaz, tryin to copy
    better come with the real though
    Fake ass niggaz yo..
    (They throw us slugs we throwin em back, what?)
    Bring the shit man, live man
    (Fuck that son)
    Nine-six shit.. »

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