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Really Hate Him Now
This entry was posted on 12/6/2006 12:04 AM and is filed under Music.
 12/6/06: Nas/Jay-Z: “Black Republican” (2006)
[Language advisory]
We’re distracted by a deadline, so here's a song for everybody to figure out on their own. Personally, “Black Republican” sounds good to us. The word "purp," incidentally, is slang for something that Will-F Buckley would like to see legalized. And don’t give us a hard time because we don’t differentiate between where Nas trades off with Jay-Z. It’s touching enough just to see these two burying their differences. We’ve also deleted a few lines, but the whole thing can be heard here. Any corrections are welcome, and probably necessary. I feel like a—
Black Republican, money I got coming in
Can’t turn my back on the hood, I got love for them
Can’t claim my act has been good, too much thug in him
I'll probably end back in the hood, I’m like fuck it, then
Rumblin’ over the oven, we was like brothers then
Though you was nothin’ other than
The son of my mother’s friend
We had nothin’ then
Who would have thought the love would end
I suppose that happens to all good things
Never known it was the same song that all hoods sing
Thought it was all wood grain, all good brain
We wouldn’t bicker like the other fools, talk good game
Never imagine all the disaster
That one good brain could bring
Should blame the game, and I could
It’s kill or be killed, how could I refrain
I feel like a—
Black Republican, money I got coming in
Can’t turn my back on the hood, I got love for them
Can’t claim my act has been good, too much thug in him
I'll probably end back in the hood, I’m like fuck it, then
I feel like a—
Black militant taking over the government
Can’t turn my back on the hood, too much love for them
Can’t clean my act up for good, too much thug in him
I'll probably end back in the hood, I’m like fuck it, then
I'm back in the hood, they, like, “Hey, Nas”
Blowing on purp, I'm pimpin’ off they lies
Couple of fat cats, couple of A.I.’s
Dreaming of fly shit instead of the gray skies
Four-fives, hate lies, wishing our reign dies
Bitches, they sling pies, and niggas, they sing, “Why?”
Ain’t strong enough to handle their jail time
Weak minds keep trying to keep follow the street signs
I’m standing on the roof of my building
I feel it—the whirlwind of beef, I inhale it
Just like an acrobat ready to hurl myself
Through the hoops of fire
Sipping 80 proof, bulletproof under my attire
Could it be the forces of darkness
Against hood angels of good
That form street politics
Makes a sweet honest kid turn illegal for commerce
To get his feet out of them Converse
That’s my wordMake it your own: Hey, the album isn’t even out yet! There’s a leak in the hip-hop intelligence community!
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