Never Personal (Fuck Nas and Nature)

Lyrics

[Intro: Cormega, (Mike Delorean)] (Yo, son... son, you heard that shit, man?) Nah, what's the deal? (Nigga, Nature tried to come at you, man, word up) Not that nigga, not that nigga, that nigga's too pretty (You gotta do somethin' man, you gotta do somethin' man, word up) I'll take that nigga to war – Yo, Nature, listen, man... [Verse 1: Cormega] In a jacuzzi flashin', splashin' like a UZI blastin' Much love for thugs, God bless B.I.' ashes "Whattup with Cormega?" Live niggas keep askin' The exhibition, flexin', throw my extra clip in Chrome Bugatti VVS's, check it Niggas talk 'bout, how real they kept it on record Screamin' out "Q.B.C.," but don't rep it "Am I my brothers keeper, or a faggot in love with reefer?" My Far Rock' niggas would love to meet ya "Life's a Bitch" but shit gets deeper, fuck gold chains and sneakers I had that, when cocaine was cheaper Yo, who this fake nigga soundin' like me? You wanna be me, but can't see a thousand like me I'm loungin', you're like rookies on housin' You see my team coming and your heart start poundin' You shook, gettin paid off the books Niggas jeal-ous, my LS is off the hook You see the Lex, you fake-ass thug, give me respect Or be another nigga that my fucking heater wet My poetry is manifest, the words be correct My empire rise, now my enemies are vexed Yo, Nature you finished, yo, Nas – you next [Intermission: Cormega] Yeah, be clear, my little man YouknowhatI'msayin', Nas? It ain't nothin' personal, it's all business, yaknahmsayin'? You let your little faggot-ass man come at me So, my man got a few words he wanna say to you Yo, son, man... [Verse 2: Mike Delorean, (Cormega)] Nature, your fake ass – Tried to be down and got ya chain snatched (Yeah! Ice took his shit!) Took the Firm, and now your little brother take that Now you against Mega star, puffin' hundred stacks In a Lex LS, chewin' on Esco-bars But they too sweet, burn my teeth Firm don't want no beef (Yeah, only Fox my peoples, son) Five stars, Q.B. to Desert Storm Some more exclusive, check the new kid on the next hit From the illest kicks, played the strip, with the whitest bricks Hover from night to light, now I push the tightest shit The tighest click – we air-tight Roll deep and wear Air Nikes, Some are scared, some the fair type But we rock mics and jam, like gats we cock twice Runnin' with the pretty boy, bitches say that's not nice Straight out the 'Bridge, Mike DeLorean, showbiz And if you wanna sign me, you can find me where the coke is [Verse 3: Cormega, (Mike Delorean)] I'm a nightmare to "Street Dream"-in' (Uh-huh) Nigga, your whole crew is 22's, my dudes' street sweepin' Prepared, never scared, ones to bolster Flex (For real) I'm ill, everything's real, ain't no special effects Yeah, bring the drama, I like the fuckin' trauma (Yeah, we like that) I'm a gladiator, rocking steel plated armor Yeah, you wanna step to me, you'd better bring a referee (Why?) My name is 'Mega, y'all niggas scared to death of me Yeah, you're mad ass, I'm like a Colombian refugee Murder any nigga in sight, any day or night You see me in a jet black Lex, the coke's white Mansion on a hill, that nigga Nature thought he ill But, I fucked his ass up like a Holyfield, for real (Just like that, son!) The Real Deal, Montana, drama for short Of course, yeah, the fuckin' boss Yeah, that nigga Nature talk about he taking my spot He took one punch to the face and just dropped (Mega knocked that nigga out, son! Yeah... dropped son, word up!) [Outro Rant: Cormega, (Mike Delorean)] It's over, La, I don't even know why you even would try to come at me This is Cor-motherfuckin'-Mega, yo (Megavelli!!!) You know my status, you fuckin' faggot That's why I fucked you up! That's why my man took your fuckin' gold chain And he's wearin' your shit in the project – you're a fuckin' bitch! Knahmsayin', Nas? You need to get–you need to get–you need to get A fuckin' fireproof fuckin' van next time you come through the projects Or niggas gon' burn your shit down Y'all niggas is idiots, yo (Word up, faggot ass nigga) Talking 'bout "Street Dreams," rockin' a pink ass suit (Yeah, you talkin 'bout crack, nigga?) What kind of dreams you niggas workin' with, man? (Them like a pink leather and shit) (Yo, man, last crack y'all niggas sold was y'all ass!!!) You fuck with me, you're fuckin with the best, man, knahmsayin'? But y'all niggas ain't ready for fuckin' war, man (Y'all ain't ready for war, man) Y'all ain't ready for the motherfuckin'--the gun battles Or the beat, on sight, man – don't fuck with me, man! (Faggot ass niggas) I don't even got no more to say, man Trick-ass bay-atches!