[Nas]
Dre, he a Compton-Compton OG
Nas, he a QB-QB true G
Do the history

[Nas]
Way before The Firm, like back in the day
Nas was the first New York nigga rappin´ with Dre
So of course I got a track to bring it back to your face
The one kid that would´ve been Aftermath that got away
But we still get together, like, every several years
To sprinkle a little bit of Heaven for your ears
Relax, sippin´ Cliquot in Rio, stupid fuckers
Low-key, no G´s, but it´s still Gucci luggage
I love Cape Cod, and watching fly bitches with gray eyes
Wrestle in a tub of KY to get my day by
I like to celebrate, why? ‘Cause I can vision
Collages and images of my lies with no regret to hate

So every breath I take is all about the rules
It´s hard for you to breathe, like you at high altitude
So crack the Patron, it´s on heathens
The God´s back, hard body, Mr. Jones never leavin´

[Marsha]
Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders
Make that cake, cop two five fivers
Pimps and players, platinum diamonds
East to West Coast, we riders

[ Nas + (Game)]
He a Compton-Compton OG
(Mix that with a QB-QB true G, what you got´s)
A concoction of some different ghetto blocks
(West Coast kill the tracks, East Coast gunshots)

[Game]
1995, eleven years from today
I´m in the record shop with choices to make
Illmatic on the top shelf, The Chronic on the left, homie
Wanna cop both but only got a 20 on me
So fuck it, I stole both, spent the 20 on a dub sack
Ripped the package off Illmatic and bumped that
For my niggas it was too complex when Nas rhymed
I was the only Compton nigga with a "New York State of Mind"
Inside the dope house, bottlin´ up sherm
Bangin´ The Firm, Dre was king then so I waited my turn
Fast forward, now I´m making ´em burn
Ended my peers´ careers

Hollered at Nas, a hard lesson was learned
So I reconciled my differences like he did with Jigga
I stopped beefin´ with niggas, ‘cause I´m "Ether" to niggas
Comb the earth ´til there´s no one left
If I ruled the world I summons all you weak rap niggas to death

[ Nas + (Game)]
He a Compton-Compton OG
(Mix that with a QB-QB true G, what you got´s)
A concoction of some different ghetto blocks
(West Coast kill the tracks, East Coast gunshots)

[Marsha]
Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders
Make that cake, cop two five fivers

Pimps and players, platinum diamonds
East to West Coast, we riders

[Nas]
Yo, the Jordans sportin´, come off the dice game
With a fortune walkin´, you a walking coffin´
The musket, I tucked it, you bluff it, I bust it
You´re sideways talking, so I lay often
I wait patient, to duct tape hatin´
Fuck ass niggas, get bucked ass niggas
Pluck ashes of Cuban cigars, you foolin´ with Nas
That´s my name and I came with Rugers this time
And if I´m sane that Soul Plane movie´s the bomb
Word to my mom´s name tattooed to my arm
You can´t revolve me, embalm me, calm me or harm me
Rob me or dodge these bullets I´m busting
See that´s malarky you yappin´

I open up the tripod to put the gatling on, and I start clappin´
Nasty man, from bagging grams and runnin´ from cops
To a mil on the hand, a mil on the watch, I´m fuckin´ with Doc

[Marsha]
Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders
Make that cake, cop two five fivers
Pimps and players, platinum diamonds
East to West Coast, we riders