We use cookies to customize content and advertising, to provide social media features, and to analyze traffic to our site. We also share information about your use of our site with our trusted social media, advertising and analytics partners. Read more.

    Nas / Lyrics

    Playlist 0 Rate 0 Like & Share Print Email Play

    "Blaze A 50" Lyrics


    Blaze a 50, sit back in the drop top Bezour Bentley
    Of course wit me, this chick who'd make Bobby divorce Whitney
    Brazilian candy, from Miami
    Masseuse, wedding ring on, lovin' Celine Dion
    Hate rap, told me where she get caked at
    She's a part time dancer, part time romancer
    Tries to be a mother when she gets a chance ta
    Left her husband, alone to raise they son hes in pampers

    Modeled for a year, got her bachelors degree
    33 recoverin' from plastic surgery
    Went from 34B to 36 double D

    Met her in San Diego at tha Super Bowl party
    Had the Heiny sipped it up, wit Terrell Davis
    MVP, we flicked it up from Sports Illustrated
    I was silked out, flossin' wit stout, he had the gators
    When she walked in, she lit up the room, like Las Vegas

    Terrell said our mans a full back for the Raiders
    A drunk whod cheerleaders and wind up in the papers
    It's easy to get the, just don't fall in love
    Next thing you know I'm hugged up wit this in tha tub
    Palm Springs, Al Capone's Sweate washin' her feet
    Is this love? Somebody's wife a thug
    Hittin' it raw, tastin' it, wildin' out on my character, tapin' it
    Tyra Banks face is face lift, givin' like she knew me for years

    Pillow talk, she let out tears, told me bout her husbands affairs
    Millions, she would get, if his neck got slit
    She rolled the equality, then passed the lie ta me

    Told me 'bout her mans life insurance policy
    He stays on the golf course, wears Drakkar Sport
    Evenings he drinks his wines on his private resort
    You can take a man here goes the keys you can slip in the rear
    Chop a up, yo, meet me somewhere so we can make more money
    Then you could ever see rappin'

    Split the cash 'n, move to Venezuela
    Adaptin' P-11's, A-C-P shells for blastin'
    Caught him wit his Spanish maid
    He had a liter wit a can of spray
    Burnin' her legs, she tied to the bed
    Sex S and M, sadomasochistic
    Sadistic, yoked her from behind
    Blew him out existence

    His maid cried no, lucky she was blind fold
    Naked wit, mad burn marks, all on her thighs yo

    Twelve point five million, he kept his funds in the loines of London
    Goes to his wife and his children
    Yo I thought, what if shorty gets scared, electric chairs all I vision
    All she'll probably get is psychiatric supervision
    I'll switch the plan, then maybe fly to Switzerland
    Fake ID, forge his wife name, catch the next flight the same night
    Headed to Spain, nice game, now it's back to where we meet again

    Blaze a 50, sit back in a drop top Bezour Bently
    Of course wit me, this chick who'd make Bobby divorce Whitney
    Top down, nightmare, blow her hair
    Sky black, stars glow, the face on the moon stare
    Fast lane on the nine-five, honey laughs about the cash
    Took a blast, out of her coke bag
    Snorted it, started screamin' yo we almost crashed
    Earlier I took the coke out, replaced it wit crushed up glass
    Her head nodded down to her chest, slowly she fell asleep
    Overwhelmed by greed, put to death
    This song was last modified on November 23rd, 2016.
    Written by Jean-Claude Olivier, Leshan Lewis, Nasir Jones, Samuel Barnes.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

    Song Details

    Rank: (−)
    −/5 from 0 users
    Charts: view all »
    Referring urls:view all »


    Songs you may also like

    • same album
    • same artist
    • popular on LSI
    • new on LSI


    leaderboard activity


    Facebook (0) LetsSingIt (0)