Uhh, what, what, uhh..
Chorus: nas (set to eurythmics "sweet dreams")
Street dreams are made of these
niggaz push beemers and 300 e's
a drug dealer's destiny is reachin a key
everybody's lookin for somethin..
street dreams are made of these
shorties on they knees, for niggaz with big g's
who am i to disagree?
everybody's lookin for somethin..
[nas]
my man put me up for the share, one-fourth of a square
headed for delaware, with one change of gear
nothin on my mind but the dime sack we blazed
with the glaze in my eye, that we find when we crave
dollars and cents, a fugitive with two attempts
jakes had no trace of the face, now they drew a print
though i'm innocent, til proven guilty
i'ma try to filthy, purchase a club and start up realty
for real g, i'ma fullfill my dream
if i conceal my scheme, then precisely i'll build my cream
the first trip without the clique
sent the bitch with the quarter brick, this is it
fresh face, ny plates got a crooked i for the jakes
i want it all, armorall benz and endless papes
god sake, what nigga got to do to make a half million
without the fbi catchin feelings
Chorus
[nas]
from fat cat to papi, niggaz see the cat
twenty-five to flat, push a thousand feet back
holdin gats wasn't making me fat, snitches on my back
livin with moms, gettin it on, flushin crack down the toilet
two sips from bein alcoholic
nine hundred ninety nine thou from bein rich but now i'm all for it
my man saw it like dionne warwick
a wiser team, for a wiser dream we could all score with
the cartel argentina coke with the nina
up in the hotel, smokin on sessamina
trina got the fishscale between her
the way the bitch shook her ass yo the dogs never seen her
she got me back livin sweeter, fresh caesar
guess, david robinson's, walle' moccasins
bitches blow me while hoppin in the drop-top bm
word is bond son, i had that bitch down on my shit like this
Chorus
[nas]
growin up project-struck, lookin for luck dreamin
scopin the large niggaz beamin, check what i'm seein
cars, ghetto stars pushin ill europeans
g'n, heard about them old timers od'n
young, early 80's, throwin rocks at the crazy lady
worshippin every word them rope rockin niggaz gave me
the street raised me up, givin a fuck
i thought jordan's and a gold chain was livin it up
i knew the dopes, the pushers, the addicts everybody
cut out of class, just to smoke blunts and drink naughty
ain't that funny? gettin put on to crack money
with all the gunplay, paintin the kettle black hungry
a case of beers in the staircase i wasted years
some niggaz went for theirs, flippin coke as they career
but i'm a rebel stressin, to pull out of the heat no doubt
with jeeps tinted out, spendin never holdin out
Chorus 2x