Stillmatic Freestyle [H to the Omo Jay-Z Diss]

Ma, I'm sorry who the fuck I AM
I can't trust my fans
Out of luck, no constructive plans
My friends stay powdered up, I'm so drunk
Can't stand you said if I would sober up
I'd be a powerful man
Turned out the street life
You prayed I wouldn't
But every church in the world
Can't save our children
I stayed out late, you heard shots
Thought it would be
Your oldest son on the ground dead
But fortunately
Them bullets had some other names on it
A brother was blind
I hit the L, then we yell out
"It wasn't my time!"
I loaded up shells, one by one
You smelled blunt from my room door
Little Nasir was at war
And little did I care what you saw
Crew deep with a few heat
Now it's time we settle the score

But in the projects, I visit Muhammad
In linen garments
Preaching Man, Woman, and Child
The living Prophet
And I'm similar, Nasir Bin Olu Dara
Visqu Allah
Fist full of dollars in the dice game God
The Ice King, God, the Black Christ
Elegant stance
Clothes fit me like a crime boss
The medicine man
I see the world collapsing, young pregnancies
Young girls are unfastening
They Sasoon jeans, no prophylactic
All this fashion and fly jewelry
Now makes my eyes teary
NY city, grab a hold and ride with me
Rip the Freeway
Shoot through Memphis with money bags
Stop in Philly
Order cheese steaks and eat Beans fast
And bring it back up top
Remove the fake king of New York
You show off
I count off when you sample my voice
I rule you, before
You used to rap like the Fu-Schnickens
Nas designed your Blueprint, who you kidding?
Is he H to the izzo, M to the izzo?
For shizzle you phony
The rapper version of Sisqo
And that's for certain, you cloned me
Your wack clothes line i'd rather Sean John
Bore me with your fake coke rhymes
And those times, they never took place
You liar un was your first court case
You had no priors
You master fabricated stories of
Streets and sound slick have you surrounded
You and them faggot you down with

While they riding NAS
Trying to boost their careers
Corny as Cormega, all you Hip-Hop queers
Since Illmatic
It Was Written: I Am nastradamus
That's the answers to the puzzle I gave you
Now here's a promise
My next few albums, instead of projects
They'll be a difficult test inside the
Cover for the mind's optics

Come in my hood, but bring the guns with you
It's dark headed through Brooklyn, Queens
Harlem, Staten, and Bronx
Headed through Compton, Oaktown
South Central, and Watts
New Orleans, Mississippi, Chi-town
Every block
I'm trying to have my positive ways
I put my rhymes on page
Did crimes and headline on stage
I signed a contract, so here it is
You have it streets Disciple, I'm Stillmatic