Rewind - Live at Webster Hall, NYC - Dec. 17, 2002 - Nas

Rewind - Live at Webster Hall, NYC - Dec. 17, 2002 - Nas

Nas

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Rewind - Live at Webster Hall, NYC - Dec. 17, 2002 - Nas

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Rewind - Live at Webster Hall, NYC - Dec. 17, 2002 - Nas Lyrics

Ayo, keep it Stillmatic, baby
Keep it Stillmatic

Listen up, gangstas and honeys with your hair done
Pull up a dancer, put it in the air, son
Dog, whatever they call you God, just listen
I spit a story backwards, it starts from the endin'
The bullet goes back in the gun
The bullet holes close in the chest of a nigga
He back to square one, screamin', "Shoot don't please"
I put my fifth back on my hip, it's like a VCR rewindin' a hit
He put his hands back on his bitch, my caravan doors open up

I jumped back in the van and closed it shut
Goin' reverse, slowly prepared
My nigga Jungle utters out somethin' crazy like, "Go he there"
Sittin' in back of this chair, we hittin' the roach
The smoke goes back in the blunt
The blunt gets bigger in growth
Jungle unrolls it, put his weed back in the jar

The blunt turns back into a cigar
I listen to Stevie, it sounded like heavy metal fans
Like AC/DC
(What you do motherfucker)
Jump out the black truck
Back upstairs, took off the black shirt
I'm in the crib with the phone
Listen up so y'all can figure out the poem real clear

The voice on the phone was like, "Outside right we"
So with my mouth wide, holdin' my heat
Bullets I had plenty to squeeze, plenty for you
'Cause Jungle said, "Block your on enemy's the"
Hung up the phone, then the phone rang
I'm laid in the bed, thinkin' about this pretty young thing
Who left, she came back, her clothes just fell to the rug
She gave me a kiss, I gave me a hug
Talking, "No hell," talkin' 'bout, "Me kiss"
Bobbed her head then spit a nut back in my dick

Started suckin' with no hands, a whole lot of spit
Then got up and put her bra back on her tits
Got fully dressed and told me, "stressed really I'm"
Picked up her Gucci bag and left a nigga behind
Runnin' through the door, she rang the bell twice
I vomited vodka back in my glass with juice and ice (yo)
The clock went back from three to two to one
And that's about the time the story begun
That's when I first heard the voicemail on the cell
It said, "Son, we found this nigga we gotta kill" (c'mon)


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