[Intro: Nas]
This goes out to you! To you! To you! To you, you and you!
Don't none of y'all want it!
None of y'all know me, man
To all my baby mothers in the club — check it out!

[Verse 1]
Yo, girls — I got 'em locked so similar to a prison
Hear this monster jam, I be callin' it 'Gangsterism'
I murder you for dope, I'm the street distributor
I'm homicidal, pointin' the pump scope to shoot you
Street connects, mob ties on East and West
We gouge out your eyeballs if you seen too much
Hoppin' out drops with blings and stuff
With ball players' wives, Mercedes 5
Dangerous lives and haters die rollin' with convicts
Conscience who tolerate no nonsense
Fake rappers in doo-rags get shot-up at they concert
Your bitch bleed, bitin' her nipples with my chipped tooth
I drink her blood like I'm Dracula, mack in the 6-Coupé
The sky become red, heard y'all n***as work with the Feds
Doesn't matter, blood'll splatter, everybody must dead
I got a urge for self-reinvention, but I'm old-fashioned
From the corner's with the winos laughin'
Dealers and Five-o blastin'
Capitalist thoughts like Presidents, I'm burnin' Bush's
Nas — the realest, it's nuttin' to fuck wit'
[Hook: Uncredited Female & (Nas)]
You think you know me, but I... (Tell 'em, Ma)
Don't think so (Don't think so)
It takes a lil more than... (What? What?)
What you know about me
(See, what you don't know, you never will)
(And what you don't know will get yourself killed)
About me
(See, what you don't know, you never will)
(And what you don't know will get yourself killed)
You'll never know

[Verse 2]
I smoke weed like them '60s rebellions, hippies on heroin
Spliffs inhalin', what I speak's strictly for felons
Dippin' in they 6-4, hittin' the switches
Or sittin' in they Bentley Azure's, feelin' the riches
Or just ridin', truck drivin' Impalas, Denali's
I fuck with those, but I lust for silver Ferrari's
I fuck hoes with the ceilings, have mirrors to watch me
My bed shaped like a pyramid, feelin' the dry heat
Spillin' Courvoisi', I'm half slave-master, half Apache, half African
Mutts is what I call us Black men
Lead astray on drugs and cups of alcohol, 'cause back when
They let us off ships; the soul of man was lost or trapped in
But every ghetto, every hood, no matter where the town
Is all haunted, all on top of slave burial grounds
Dead cooks, workers and maids under this Earth in rage
Ancient whore houses — that explain my sexual ways
Money and murder interprets the American dream
The world loves a gangsta, I found my place in this thing
Royce's, diamonds and bosses, woman who're gorgeous
Traitors, killers and enemies remorseless, we live this!
[Hook: Uncredited Female & (Nas)]
You think you know me, but I... (Tell 'em, Ma)
Don't think so (Don't think so)
It takes a lil more than... (What? What?)
What you know about me
(See, what you don't know, you never will)
(And what you don't know will get yourself killed)
About me
(See, what you don't know, you never will)
(And what you don't know will get yourself killed)
You'll never know

[Verse 3]
Gypsies, preachers, choirs, churches, liquor store
The world is full of liars, curses, people rich or poor
Without God to worship, see, we would be more lost
Gotta believe in somethin', or there would be no laws
A ghetto child occasionally blunted in mansions
My cup overflow with Cristal, hundred exotic dancers
N***as is plastic, ass gets jealous and passive
My pistol blast at cowards, leeches and rappers
N***as I fuck with is Bravehearts, make G's
Before rap music to me was wind blowin' the trees
Birds chirpin', rain fallin', perfect and free
But bitches saw my video and think they know me
These n***as bad talkin', claimin' they gon' do me
Stay out my path, homie, you fuckin' wit' a true G!
Bitch, you don't know me!
[Hook: Uncredited Female & (Nas)]
You think you know me, but I... (Tell 'em, Ma)
Don't think so (Don't think so)
It takes a lil more than... (What? What?)
What do you know about me?
(See, what you don't know, you never will)
(And what you don't know will get yourself killed)
(See, what you don't know, you never will)
(And what you don't know will get yourself killed)

[Outro: Nas]
Forget the magazines, award shows on the TV screen
The blings, all the cars, ghetto superstars
This is real, no gimmicks, man
See, none of that makes me, so don't judge me
'Cause y'all don't know me, homie
Trackmasters, Bravehearts, Ill Will, will kill
PEACE!