"My pen taps the paper then my brains blank" - Nas

Everything is great about this song. From the Craig G and Biz Markie samples, to the briskly paced, organized stream of conscious delivery.

Seconds verse is the standout...

"My pen taps the paper then my brain's blank
I see dark streets, hustling brothers who keep the same rank
Pumping for something, some'll prosper, some fail
Judges hanging niggas, uncorrect bails, for direct sales
My intellect prevails from a hanging cross with nails
I reinforce the frail, with lyrics that's real
Word to Christ, a disciple of streets, trifle on beats
I decipher prophecies through a mic and say peace."

[Nas]

I rap for listeners, blunt heads, fly ladies and prisoners

Hennessey holders and old school niggas, then I be dissin a unofficial that smoke woolie thai

I dropped out of Cooley High, gassed up by a coke-head cutie pie

Jungle survivor,

fuck who's the liver

My man put the battery in my back, a difference from Energizer

Sentence begins indented...with formality

My duration's infinite, money wise or physiology

Poetry, that's a part of me, retardedly bop

I drop the ancient manifested hip-hop, straight off the block

I reminisce on park jams, my man was shot for his sheep coat

Chocolate blunts make me see him drop in my weed smoke

It's real, grew up in trife life, did times or white lines

The hype vice, murderous night times, and knife fights invite crimes

Chill on the block with Cognac, hold strap

with my peeps that's into drug money, market into rap

No sign of the beast in the blue Chrysler, I guess that means peace

For niggas no sheisty vice to just snipe you

Start off the dice-rolling mats for craps to ce-lo

With side-bets, I roll a deuce, nothing below (peace God!)

Peace God -- now the shit is explained

I'm taking niggas on a trip straight through memory lane

It's like that you all it's like that you all it's like that you all

[Chorus: repeat scratches 4X]

"Now let me take a trip down memory lane" -> [BizMarkie]

"Comin outta Queensbridge" Craig G

[Nas]

One for the money

Two for pussy and foreign cars

Three for Alize niggas deceased or behind bars

I rap divine Gods check the prognosis, is it real or showbiz?

My window faces shootouts, drug overdoses

Live amongst no roses, only the drama

for real

A nickel-plate is my fate, my medicine is the ganja

Here's my basis, my razor embraces, many faces

Your telephone blown, black stitches or fat shoelaces

Peoples are petro, dramatic automatic four-four I let blow

and back down po-po when I'm vexed so

my pen taps the paper then my brain's blank

I see dark streets, hustling brothers who keep the same rank

Pumping for something

some'll prosper some fail

Judges hanging niggas, uncorrect bails, for direct sales

My intellect prevails from a hanging cross with nails

I reinforce the frail, with lyrics that's real

Word to Christ, a disciple of streets, trifle on beats

I decipher prophecies through a mic and say peace.

I hung around the older crews while they sling smack to dingbats

They spoke of Fat Cat, that nigga's name made bell rings black

Some fiends scream, about Supreme Team, a Jamaica Queens thing

Uptown was Alpo, son, heard he was kingpin, yo

Fuck "rap is real", watch the herbs stand still

Never talking to snakes 'cause the words of man kill

True in the game, as long as blood is blue in my veins

I pour my Heineken brew to my deceased crew on memory lane

[Chorus]

"Comin outta Queensbridge" -> [scratched]