Artist: Nas

Song: It Ain't Hard To Tell

Album: Illmatic. 1994

Submitted by: staff@hiphoparchives.com

Corrections by: Joe Berhan. Note: These corrections are focused on capturing the M.C.'s true intentions. Although there are numerous errors in the lyrics entered in the Hip Hop Archives, Joe has focused only on significant errors in word choice, etc. 3/22/01

Listen

It ain't hard to tell. I excel then prevail.

The mic is contacted, I attract clientele.

My mic check is life or death,

Breathin the sniper's breath.

I exhale the yellow smoke of Buddha through righteous steps,

Deep like The Shinin', sparkle like a diamond

Sneak a uzi on the island in my army jacket linin.

Hit the Earth like a comet invasion.

Nas is like the Afrocentric Asian, half-man, half-amazin.

Cause in my physical, I can't express through song

Delete stress like Motrin, then extend strong.

I drink Moet with Medusa, give her shotguns in hell.

From the spliff that I lift and inhale, it ain't hard to tell.

 

The buddha monk's in your trunk, turn the bass up

Not stories by Aesop, place your loot up, parties I shoot up

Nas'll analyze, drop a jew-el.

Inhale from the L, school a fool well, you feel it like braille

It ain't hard to tell, I kick the skill like Shaquille holds a pill

Vocabulary spills I'm Ill

plus Matic, I freak beats slam it like Iron Shiek

Jam like a tech with correct techniques.

So analyze me, surprise me, but can't magnetize me.

Scannin while you're plannin ways to sabatoge me,

I leave em froze like heron in your nose.

Nas'll rock well, it ain't hard to tell.

 

This rhythmatic explosion, is what your frame of mind has chosen.

I'll leave your brain stimulated; niggaz is frozen.

Speak with criminal slang, begin like a violin;

End like Leviathan. It's deep well; let me try again.

Wisdom be leakin out my grapefruit troop.

I dominate break loops, givin mics men-e-straul cycles.

Street's disciple, I rock beats that's mega trifle

And groovy but smoother than moves by Villanova.

You're still a soldier, I'm like Sly-Stone in Cobra.

Packin like a rasta in the weed spot

Vocals'll squeeze glocks, MC's eavesdrop

Though they need not to sneak.

My poetry's deep; I never fell.

Nas's raps should be locked in a cell.

It ain't hard to tell