N.Y.C.

Chorus (Kool G. Rap) N.Y. City, crime around me, drug dynasties Death and robberies On the dark blocks where bodies bleed Jake inside the P.J.'s, the heat waves Kids play where heat sprays Straight floods, no love, fake thugs Draw blood with Four-Four snubs Tear away your rug Kids with clout Up in the Range Rover with chicks, spray in their mouth Drain 'em out, set up for the wet up, bang 'em out These streets in Queens remain the murder scene, blood stain 'em out (repeat) Verse 1: (Kool G. Rap) Inside the chambers of Hell Where all the L puffin' niggas dwell And fell cause of a loss of blood cells Bullet shells, glass is shattered Shit gets torn and tattered Niggas brains is splattered on sewage drains when they be goin' at it Static over addicts, revolvers and automatics It's illmatic how I seen one catch two in the cabbage From an initial, official shiny nickel played pistols Sparklin' like crystals, launchin' missiles Domes get blown like whistles Ain't no jokin', niggas will leave you and your Momma soakin' And smokin' and blown open Bodies found in Hoboken Kids comittin' murder after murder Shit is real so I feel for the ones that don't pack steel and burners Bodies be droppin' down around Queens By different teams, it's the Teens that tear your ass out the frame by The seams The end of the drama center, niggas you want drama? Word to Momma come equipped with two clips and body armor Chorus Verse 2: (Jinx Da Juvy) Yeah, it's that young fella, Jinx Da Juvy Fly lil' nigga, iced out with a fresh brand new Coogi Jigged out, wig spinned out with waves Pockets full of the Franklins, I stay gettin' paid Stay stackin' papes, plus my Fam flip cakes While some of us rap, other fellas flip 'caine Rock big chains, what ya'll think this a game? Murder incorp. slash open cases with cartels We do things that make the Mob tell The way we go outta state and flip more cakes then Carvel Ya'll play the cut, and watch this lil' nigga prevail Cause I spit much hotter than Hell So why ya'll playa hate and plot to creep on mine I pay ya'll no mind, but violate and speak to the Nine I'm a B.K. Son of a gun When I spit 16 bars ya'll rap niggas dial 911 I'm only 14, and ya'll rap dudes ready to run This ain't a game, ain't no time for fun I'm the young rap Lord, so I gotta hold it down It's Easy Mo Bee, G. Rap and Jinx Da Juvenile Verse 3: (Kool G. Rap) Crushed with the ice, get rushed for your life Busted in twice, stuck with a knife On these rough nights we hustle and heist Put heaters to your Man and double the price Snuffin' your lights, shake you like a couple of dice Nothin' is nice, prepare for combat Firearm cats with long gats, end up where you get embalmed at Lay on the floor flat, pull the gat format Direct beside your door mat Cock the Fours back, blow out your Whore's back Leave the kids wigs tore back My niggas ride with me like horseback Go to war rats, niggas you strapped? let me take that G. Rap face slap all of these fake cats And unofficials, get gun missiles clapped in your lung tissue Me and my Dun's'll hit you, slugs not even one'll miss you Tons of pistols Kid, you got guns?, you should've brung 'em wit' you Them niggas runnin' wit' you Caught 'em and hung 'em wit' you No games, out to blow frames with Fo' flames At close range, have all you niggas lookin' for Rogaine Chorus 2x