💥 The SHADY Move That Turned Nas Into 50 Cent’s ENEMY — “He Never Called Me!” 📞🔥

The beef between Nas and 50 Cent was never supposed to happen.

In fact, their early relationship looked like a classic story of one legend helping the next in line.

Nas, already a god-tier MC by the late ’90s, invited a then-unknown 50 Cent on tour with him during the Nostradamus run.

50, fresh off signing to Columbia Records and coming up from the brutal streets of Southside Jamaica Queens, owed Nas a lot—at least on paper.

That tour was 50’s first real taste of the rap game’s upper crust, and the fact that Jungle and the Bravehearts were all packed into one van with 50 and his crew showed just how grassroots this opportunity really

was.

But behind the scenes, cracks were already forming.

50 was shocked by how little Nas interacted with his people.

Instead of blazing weed and partying like Illmatic promised, Nas was reserved, bookish even.

That wasn’t what 50 expected from a rap hero.

More importantly, he began noticing something that stuck with him—Nas didn’t really put his people on.

While Bravehearts got to ride the wave for a bit, there was no infrastructure, no game plan, no real momentum behind them.

To 50, that looked like a missed opportunity—and a red flag.

Still, the respect remained.

They recorded together, hung out, and even had a few unreleased tracks.

Nas and 50 weren’t best friends, but they were cool.

That all changed in early 2001.

After 50 got shot nine times and dropped from Columbia Records—yes, they literally dropped him after he survived a near-fatal assassination attempt—he started realizing just how transactional and cold the

industry could be.

And that’s when the betrayal happened.

50 had landed a remix feature on Jennifer Lopez’s “I’m Gonna Be Alright.

” It was huge.

A major co-sign that could’ve taken his career to another level.

But then Irv Gotti and the Trackmasters stepped in and convinced J.

Lo’s team to replace 50…with Nas.

Why? Because they feared 50’s reputation.

Irv spun the narrative that 50 was a liability, too street, too dangerous to be on a pop record.

And instead, they gave the slot to the man 50 thought was in his corner.

What stung the most? Nas never called.

According to 50, Nas had no issue calling multiple times about personal topics like Cormega’s girl—but when it came to jumping on a record that replaced 50, silence.

“You called me three times about Megan’s girl,” 50 recalled, “but you didn’t call me about the record?” That wasn’t just shady.

That was war.

To add insult to injury, 50 first found out about the switch while riding in his car.

The radio announced a new J.

Lo remix—featuring Nas.

50 sat there, shocked, listening to a track he was supposed to be on, now headlined by the guy who never picked up the phone.

That was the moment everything changed.

At this point, 50’s worldview was darkening.

Everyone was either an ally or an enemy—and Nas had just chosen his side by aligning with Irv Gotti, a man already targeting 50’s career and life.

Even Jay-Z felt tension over this.

He’d just lost the most iconic battle in hip-hop to Nas (thanks to Ether), and now Irv was pushing Nas even harder, feeding the Nas vs.

Hov energy.

And there stood 50, betrayed, blackballed, and boiling over.

50 struck back the only way he knew how—lyrically.

On G-Unit’s 50 Cent Is the Future mixtape, he dropped “Bang Bang,” taking shots at Nas and his partner Kelis.

Then came the Get Rich or Die Tryin’ album in 2003, which contained Easter eggs and subtle digs.

The beat for “Many Men,” one of 50’s most iconic songs, was allegedly heard during a Nas session.

On “High All the Time,” 50 made sarcastic jabs clearly aimed at his former mentor.

And there was more.

The original version of “Back Down” had a full verse dedicated to Nas, but Dr.

Dre convinced 50 to stay focused on Ja Rule.

Nas, at first, tried to play the high road.

In interviews, he brushed it off, calling 50’s disses “publicity stunts.

” But on stage, he let the crowd know how he really felt.

In Central Park, he thanked fans for supporting “real hip-hop” over what 50 Cent represented.

Eventually, he did clap back with the unreleased diss “Don’t Body Yourself,” a direct, brutal lyrical response that never saw an official release but sent a clear message—Nas wasn’t scared.

50 responded with “Just a Touch” and dissed Nas again on “Window Shopper” and “Piggy Bank,” the latter mocking Nas’s relationship with Kelis and even clowning him for getting her face tattooed on his arm.

And just to twist the knife, he made an animated video to accompany the disrespect.

But through all the jabs, there was something missing—real hate.

This beef never reached the fever pitch of Nas vs.

Jay-Z or 50 vs.

Ja Rule.

It was competitive.

Petty.

Personal.

But not pure venom.

Nas even admitted in a later interview that he missed the old 50.

“I showed him his first Bentley, his first big diamonds,” Nas said.

“He didn’t even know what real diamonds looked like.

I showed him that.”

Still, he didn’t let 50 off easy.

He reminded fans that G-Unit’s spinning chain was basically a knockoff of his Queensbridge chain.

He claimed 50’s whole aesthetic was lifted from him.

And then he delivered the ultimate shade: “If anyone’s a window shopper, it ain’t me.”

By 2006, Nas had shifted his focus to unity.

Promoting Hip-Hop Is Dead, he told interviewers he wasn’t interested in beefing with lightweights.

“You gotta be in my weight class,” he said.

“You can’t perform for 6,000 people twice and think you ready.

” He admitted he could lyrically “spank” some of these “clowns,” but said it wasn’t worth his energy.

Still, fans knew the fire hadn’t died out completely.

In 2012, they traded light jabs again.

But the real peace came in 2014, when Nas shocked everyone by bringing 50 Cent on stage at Hot 97’s Summer Jam.

Two Queens legends, once at odds, now shoulder to shoulder under the same spotlight.

What this feud really proves is that ego, miscommunication, and shady industry politics can turn potential alliances into grudges that last years.

Nas may have meant no harm, but that one move—replacing 50 on a career-changing record without a single call—was enough to turn a mentor into a target.

50 never forgot.

But eventually, he forgave.

And for fans of real hip-hop, that truce was everything.

Let us know in the comments—did Nas really betray 50, or was it all just industry chess? And should they have made more music together instead of going to war? Sound off below and don’t forget to hit that like

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