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    Nas / Lyrics

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    "Zone Out" Lyrics

    Nas feat. Bravehearts

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    Braveheart for life

    [sample - repeated 8x "Z-z-z-zone Out"]

    Salaam Remi. Yea, What, Yea
    Why don't y'all blast on these niggas, man

    Tuck in your chain put your watch in your pocket
    Here come the Bravehearts straight out the projects
    We live the life where the blood spills
    Same thing that get you cash nigga, get you killed
    Warnin', Jungle always keep a gun on him
    Pull out, {*shooting sound*}, four head yawnin'
    Sloppy, droppin' you herbs
    Close range so my bullets don't swerve, curve
    No bullshit
    Back of your head vomit
    Call Earl, death is the ways of the world
    Y'all made criminals
    Tryin' to wild nowadays sold crack, bust guns at Bow Wow's age
    Fightin' in jail, lookin' for heaven, livin' in hell
    Fuckin 'em hos, boilin' coke since I was 12
    Way too foul walk around all the time
    With a gray Mack 10 and a pocket full o' dimes

    Braveheart to the graveyard, let's go niggas
    Scared straight, but FUCK them hos
    Keep it, dead serious
    Believe it don't believe us, until you see me creepin',
    Now you sleep with them fishes
    G-W-I-Z, so delicious
    To all them ghetto and sober bitches in 'burban districts
    I'm movin on past you chumps, and very thoroughly promoted by God's Son
    And this is the military turn it up
    My uzi weighs a ton, your son let's thump nah
    Heat talk feet walk you run uh
    Rat ta-tat, Hear them shots come
    Drop son, pull out
    You better send 'em back son, or feel that casket
    The peeps be like one (one)
    I'm movin on past you chumps, and very thoroughly promoted by God's Son

    G-O-D S-O-N I S-O-O-T-H-E a female's estrogen
    With my testosterone, male hormone
    Enough for a giant's body, science S-C-I-E-N-C-E
    Don't tempt me, EMS will get you, me I'm just, invincible
    Like Mike Jack said, for me and Al Sharpton won't be Broke in Harlem
    That's dead, who made this style, solo or X
    Or UTFO's doctor or Mo Dee
    Whoever, I freaked it yes, so meet ya death
    I never wear Esco, I got a New Line comin' like cinemas
    Remember the, original, y'all still tryina show niggas you're rich
    Town house niggas
    I'm six cribs deep, six bank accounts in six countries
    Na I'm lyin', who gives a fuck that's so tired
    While pictures of Bravehearts just livin' it up
    A million of us, each nigga itchin' to bust
    You got a house in Virginia
    The only way you sicker than us
    Gettin' bagged with .22's now you's a ridiculous fuck
    No need for the gun play, it's ok, 'cause you dyin' anyway (faggot)

    Yo, this is for them High school drop outs
    Niggas in court who copped out
    If you prefer shots over knockouts
    Sniffin' coke, smokin' weed
    Sellin' crack, sellin' smack
    You thuggin' and you ain't turnin back
    Braveheart's gettin' money ruthless 'till the world end
    Gettin' high with my enemy's girlfriend
    I used to have the bike on a bench
    Now I got the jeep on the strip
    Coke in the pot, heat on my hip

    Nigga dont stop blazin' cuz ya target's movin'
    Shoot 'till the gun's empty stupid, Queens
    Niggas so ruthless, really excuses is
    Useless to these swift executioners
    And thats Queensbridge nigga, all day
    Pump packs o' crack, smoke purple haze
    Runnin from D's quick to knockout rookies
    G Wiz you know what I'm 'bout
    To all my real niggas

    [sample - repeated until end "Z-z-z-zone Out"]
    This song was last modified on November 24th, 2016.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Roba Music, Universal Music Publishing Group.
    Written by Mike Epps, Jabari Jones, Nasir Jones, Salaam Remi.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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