Halftime (Butcher Remix)

[Intro] Check me out y'all Nasty Nas in your area About to cause mass hysteria [Verse 1] Before I blunt, I take out my fronts Then I start to front; matter of fact, I be on a manhunt You couldn't catch me in the streets without a ton of reefer That's like Malcolm X catching the Jungle Fever King poetic. Too much flavor, I'm major Atlanta ain't Brave-r, I'll pull a number like a pager Cause I'm an ace when I face the bass 40-side is the place that is giving me grace Now wait, another dose and you might be dead And I'm a Nike-head, I wear chains that excite the Feds And ain't a damn thing gonna change I'mma performer strange, so the mic warmer was born to gain Nas, why did you do it You know you got the mad fat fluid when you rhyme, it's halftime [Hook] It's halftime This is how it feel, check it out, how it feel [Verse 2] It's like that, you know it's like that I got it hemmed, now you never get the mic back When I attack, there ain't an army that could strike back So I react never calmly on a hype track I set it off with my own rhyme Cause I'm as ill as a convict who kills for phone time I'm max like cassettes, I flex like sex In your stereo sets, Nas'll catch wreck I used to hustle - now all I do is relax and strive When I was young I was a fan of the Jackson 5 I drop jewels, wear jewels, hope to never run it With more kicks than a baby in a mother's stomach Nasty Nas has to rise cause I'm wise This is exercise 'til the microphone dies Back in '83 I was an MC sparkin' But I was too scared to grab the mics in the parks and Kick my little raps cause I thought nigga wouldn't understand And now in every jam I'm the fuckin' man I rap in front of more niggas than in the slave ships I used to watch "CHiPs", now I load Glock clips I got to have it, I miss Mr. Magic Versatile, my style switches like a faggot But not bisexual, I'm an intellectual Of rap I'm a professional and that's no question, yo These are the lyrics of the man, you can't near it, understand? Cause in the streets, I'm well-known like the number man Am I in place with the bass and format Explore rap and tell me "Nas ain't all that" And next time I rhyme, I be foul Whenever I freestyle I see trial, niggas say I'm wild I hate a rhyme-biter's rhyme Stay tuned, Nas soon - the real rap comes at halftime [Hook:] [Verse 3] I got it going on, even flip a morning song Every afternoon, I kick half the tune And in the darkness, I'm heartless like when the NARC's hit Word to Marcus Garvey: I hardly sparked it Cause when I blast the herb, that's my word I be slayin' them fast, doing this that and the third But chill, pass the Andre, and let's slay I bag bitches up at John Jay, and hit a matinee Putting hits on 5-0 Cause when it's my time to go, I wait for God with the .44 And biters can't come near And yo: "go to hell" to the foul cop who shot Garcia I won't plant seeds, don't need an extra mouth I can't feed That's extra Phillie change, more cash for damp weed This goes out to Manhattan, the island of Staten Brooklyn and Queens is living fat and The Boogie Down, enough props, enough clout Ill Will, rest in peace, yo, I'm out