Thief's Theme (feat. Rising Son)

Yo ha, ha, ha
DPP
Check, one two, one two
Who got more style than Son do?
None do (that's official)
Yeah, this is history right here (history)
Yo, Nas, Rising Son
Queensbridge to London
Let's go

Yo, yo
This is the Thief's Theme
For the underground criminal street teams
Street dream chasing young hungry thugs that seek cream
Crack fiends and hatch schemes, knife-point robbery
Broad day blindeys, night-time thuggery
Sun down shenanigans, move without shadow
Like ninjas, cat burglars, no fiasco
No commotion, make moves like locomotion
Crack-sport ambush, get the man bringing the coke in
Warehouse crime rate, mans throw they vans up
Bang job, "Freeze, everybody put your hands up"
Cash is nightmare, gun in ya face plate
"It's not even ya money, don't make me put one in ya face, mate"
Thieves running this place, world trade, eight fare
Slave rift flashbacks; Bush killer, hate Blair!
Wish Mars was a mile away, 'cause I would escape there
On a Skyway railroad, to stick you from my tray fair, bitch

Yeah, you know like when you kill somebody in Street Fighter

One, two
Check, one, two
One, two, who got more style, the son do
One, two
Check, one, two
One, two, who got more style, the son do
Check, one, two

Yo I'm hot like 95 Fahrenheit
On a summer night, tight spot where bodies rot
Rats drink from water drops, in the streets niggas
Little kids scared cops, with red dots
Philosophical gangsta, with violent priors
Going back like black and white TVs with pliers
Leaning on broke down cars, with flat tires
Flash iron, anybody trying on, the blocks I'm supplying on
Madicon, my peeps, tie balloons up
And swallow 'em and the P now got goons, lots of 'em
Cops see them and run, don't want no drama
Certain parts of the streets, the beast don't want a part of
Martyr, hood haunted like the Dakota
Where John Lennon was shot up, but he sang for peace
He begged for freedom, hanged with wild Jamaicans
From Kingston, who drink Irish Malts
Listening to Peter Winston, Mackintosh
Lightning hits the top of the church steeple
When I'm writing, semi-automatic no hyphen
It's frightening

The thief's theme, play me at night, they won't act right
Understandable smooth shit, that murderers move with
The thief's theme, play me at night, they won't act right
Understandable smooth shit, that murderers move with
The thief's theme, play me at night, they won't act right
Understandable smooth shit, that murderers move with
The thief's theme, play me at night, they won't act right
Understandable smooth shit, that murderers move with

I take summers off, cause I love winter beef
Started '87, with the shotty in the sheep
Three-quarter length beige, dressed to kill
Bust a shell at the ground, pellets hit the crowd
Nobody like a snitch, everybody shut they mouth
Woolrich, Carhart, gun powder stains
Smelling like trees, sensimille on the brain
Skeeming on ya girls, bamboozle or ya chain
Got ill up on the train, twisting off a cap
Of a English in my vain, might of pushed you on the tracks
Deaf crack fiends, who can't speak, scream noises
Cause she bought a jum of soap, from one of my boys, it's
Just another day in the hood
And I'm, with some wild brothers, up to no good
We saw the movies, like Tony Montana, and 'em
But our style was let them pile then, we robbing 'em
Money dudes, make 'em come up out they shoes
Run they jewels, word is bond, where my man Nino going
And I had to make a song, speaking on my old life
For the thief's who come out at night

The thief's theme, play me at night, they won't act right
Understandable smooth shit, that murderers move with
The thief's theme, play me at night, they won't act right
Understandable smooth shit, that murderers move with
The thief's theme, play me at night, they won't act right
Understandable smooth shit, that murderers move with
The thief's theme, play me at night, they won't act right
Understandable smooth shit, that murderers move with

One, two
Check, one, two
One, two
Check, one, two
One, two, who got more style, the son do