Too Late - The Alchemist, Nas

I sip the blood of Christ from a gold cup

I love this life

My soldiers smoke you, no price

Dead men in graves roll over

I’m part Apache, slave master, African, who asked me

Fans tear my clothes, bitches try to trap me

30,000 seats rise to their feet to hear me flow

Got two mansions on the East Coast

Models deep throat

I heard about them kidnap dudes, had dinner with some

Shake hands with killers just to see who really was one

Study his moves, how he look fake — but that’s the trick to it

Now we turn you to bait

The street shit I stick to it

Rappers hate me, bitches saying, «how did he start?»

They go to psychics asking 'em for my astrology chart

I’m the righteous thug, fight for Mumia

Racist white judge — made Diallo’s murderers free

See, they don’t like us

And what about conspiracies to kill black boys

But y’all ain’t hearing me, worship the planet like asteroids

Look around and everything you see was once an idea

From somebody’s thoughts who turned into reality clear

Look at the tallest sky scrapers, it just didn’t appear

Somebody thought it up and built it up and put it right there

Aye yo rich niggas burn and roll up in Testarossa’s

Poor niggas plan to come up they cop the toasters

Dead niggas lay in they grave and roll over

But it is too late, too late

Aye-yo rich niggas burn and roll up in Testarossa’s

Poor niggas plan to come up they cop the toasters

Dead niggas lay in they grave and roll over

But it is too late, too late

Aye yo Aye yo Ayeyo