| 歌曲 | Project Windows |
| 歌手 | Nas |
| 专辑 | Nastradamus |
| 作词 : Broady, Jones, Myrick | |
| Black hoods, cops 'n projects | |
| sewers flooded with foul blockage | |
| The gutter's wild and every child watches | |
| Changin top locks with ripped off hinges | |
| doors kicked off, drunks stag off smirnoff, wipe your beard off | |
| Crippled dope fiends in wheelchairs stare | |
| vision blurry, cus buried deep in they mind are hidden stories | |
| Bet he's a mirror image of that 70's era | |
| finished for the rest of his life, till he fades out | |
| The liquor store workers miss him but then it plays out | |
| so many ways out the hood but no signs say out | |
| Mental slavehouse where gats go off, I show off | |
| niggas up north, prison-ology talk, till they time cut off | |
| You should chill if you short, prepare deep thought | |
| to hit the street again, get it on, get this paper and breathe again | |
| Plan to leave somethin' behind | |
| so your name'll live on, no matter what the game lives on | |
| (Chorus) | |
| Lookin' out of my project window | |
| Oh, I feel uninspired | |
| Lookin' out of my project window | |
| Oh, it makes me feel, so tired | |
| Yo, if this piano's the cake then my words are the candles | |
| Light it up, make a wish, and them angels will grant you | |
| Impatient once tried, but in those angels and bamboo | |
| they lit it up, *puff* *puff*, hit it up, *puff* | |
| Now they dismantled, think the whole world is crazy, got a 9 | |
| watch where you walk, 2 dollar fine, sign of the times here in New York | |
| Hi Satan, United Nations quietly taken, to own your soul | |
| take it or leave it, just my evaluation | |
| Stack loot and guns, teach the girls karate, school your sons not to hate | |
| but to stay awake, cus the scars a razor make is nothin' in comparison | |
| to the gas left on this whole mass, if we don't get it controlled fast | |
| might as well be, laughin' with Malcolm X's assassin as we die slow | |
| perishin', brain dead from a Erickson | |
| Words are the medicine, two teaspoons for goons | |
| a cup of it for those thuggin' it, y'all sing the tune | |
| Chorus | |
| Another day, another dollar, my mother will holla | |
| She said 'go and see the world for myself, and my brother Shafala' | |
| Pops was smooth, from his top to his shoes | |
| sang the rules, guitar strings he played smokin' his ? | |
| ? hat, picture this yo, seventies cat | |
| He wrote his music in the back of the crib, I did my homework | |
| At night the windows were speakers, pumpin' life out | |
| a fight, people screamin' cus somebody pulled a knife out | |
| So I look at this poem, I'm hooked to this tune | |
| every night the same melody, hell sounded so heavenly | |
| But jail was ahead of me, ????? | |
| Reading's what I should've done, cus my imagination would run | |
| I was impatient to get out and become part of the noise out there | |
| I used to stare, five stories down, basketball courts, shot up playgrounds | |
| and I witnessed the murders and police shake-downs | |
| Yo, the hustlas and hoes, drugs and fo-fos | |
| This was the life of every kid, lookin' out project windows | |
| Oh, outta my window | |
| Lookin' out of my project window | |
| Oh, it makes me feel, so tired | |
| Lookin' out of my project window | |
| Oh, I feel uninspired | |
| Lookin' out of my project window | |
| Oh, it makes me feel, so tired | |
| Lookin' out of my project window | |
| Oh, I feel uninspired | |
| Starin out of, of my window | |
| Oh I, feel so tired | |
| Oh yeah, outta my window | |
| Oh, lookin' out, lookin' out | |
| Lookin' out my window, oh yeah | |
| Makes me, feel so tired | |
| Outta my window, out my project window | |
| Lord I feel, uninspired |
| zuò cí : Broady, Jones, Myrick | |
| Black hoods, cops ' n projects | |
| sewers flooded with foul blockage | |
| The gutter' s wild and every child watches | |
| Changin top locks with ripped off hinges | |
| doors kicked off, drunks stag off smirnoff, wipe your beard off | |
| Crippled dope fiends in wheelchairs stare | |
| vision blurry, cus buried deep in they mind are hidden stories | |
| Bet he' s a mirror image of that 70' s era | |
| finished for the rest of his life, till he fades out | |
| The liquor store workers miss him but then it plays out | |
| so many ways out the hood but no signs say out | |
| Mental slavehouse where gats go off, I show off | |
| niggas up north, prisonology talk, till they time cut off | |
| You should chill if you short, prepare deep thought | |
| to hit the street again, get it on, get this paper and breathe again | |
| Plan to leave somethin' behind | |
| so your name' ll live on, no matter what the game lives on | |
| Chorus | |
| Lookin' out of my project window | |
| Oh, I feel uninspired | |
| Lookin' out of my project window | |
| Oh, it makes me feel, so tired | |
| Yo, if this piano' s the cake then my words are the candles | |
| Light it up, make a wish, and them angels will grant you | |
| Impatient once tried, but in those angels and bamboo | |
| they lit it up, puff puff, hit it up, puff | |
| Now they dismantled, think the whole world is crazy, got a 9 | |
| watch where you walk, 2 dollar fine, sign of the times here in New York | |
| Hi Satan, United Nations quietly taken, to own your soul | |
| take it or leave it, just my evaluation | |
| Stack loot and guns, teach the girls karate, school your sons not to hate | |
| but to stay awake, cus the scars a razor make is nothin' in comparison | |
| to the gas left on this whole mass, if we don' t get it controlled fast | |
| might as well be, laughin' with Malcolm X' s assassin as we die slow | |
| perishin', brain dead from a Erickson | |
| Words are the medicine, two teaspoons for goons | |
| a cup of it for those thuggin' it, y' all sing the tune | |
| Chorus | |
| Another day, another dollar, my mother will holla | |
| She said ' go and see the world for myself, and my brother Shafala' | |
| Pops was smooth, from his top to his shoes | |
| sang the rules, guitar strings he played smokin' his ? | |
| ? hat, picture this yo, seventies cat | |
| He wrote his music in the back of the crib, I did my homework | |
| At night the windows were speakers, pumpin' life out | |
| a fight, people screamin' cus somebody pulled a knife out | |
| So I look at this poem, I' m hooked to this tune | |
| every night the same melody, hell sounded so heavenly | |
| But jail was ahead of me, ????? | |
| Reading' s what I should' ve done, cus my imagination would run | |
| I was impatient to get out and become part of the noise out there | |
| I used to stare, five stories down, basketball courts, shot up playgrounds | |
| and I witnessed the murders and police shakedowns | |
| Yo, the hustlas and hoes, drugs and fofos | |
| This was the life of every kid, lookin' out project windows | |
| Oh, outta my window | |
| Lookin' out of my project window | |
| Oh, it makes me feel, so tired | |
| Lookin' out of my project window | |
| Oh, I feel uninspired | |
| Lookin' out of my project window | |
| Oh, it makes me feel, so tired | |
| Lookin' out of my project window | |
| Oh, I feel uninspired | |
| Starin out of, of my window | |
| Oh I, feel so tired | |
| Oh yeah, outta my window | |
| Oh, lookin' out, lookin' out | |
| Lookin' out my window, oh yeah | |
| Makes me, feel so tired | |
| Outta my window, out my project window | |
| Lord I feel, uninspired |