Posted on Wednesday, 5 August 2009
I’m the young city bandit, hold myself down singlehanded
For murder raps, I kick my thoughts alone, get remanded
Born alone, die alone, no crew to keep my crown or throne
I’m deep by sound alone, caved inside in a thousand miles from home
I need a new nigga, for this black cloud to follow
Cause while it’s over me it’s too dark to see tomorrow
Trying to maintain, I flip, fill the clip to the tip
Picturin my peeps, now the income make my heartbeat skip
And I’m amped up, they locked the champ up, even my brain’s in handcuffs
It’s almost as if Nas had stabbed himself with a quill pen and written his lyrics in blood; because the emotion pours all over his words and delivery. Who in their bleakest hour hasn’t wished they had crew who had their back, or that someone else could shoulder the burden of their sorrows? Even though his brain was in handcuffs, Nas obviously broke the chains and escaped to a mental freedom where rap rhyming was his liberator.
