| Yeah, straight out the fuckin dungeons of rap
|
| Where fake niggaz don’t make it back
|
| I don’t know how to start this shit, yo, now
|
| Rappers I monkey flip em with the funky rhythm I be kickin
|
| Musician, inflictin composition
|
| of pain I’m like Scarface sniffin cocaine
|
| Holdin a M-16, see with the pen I’m extreme, now
|
| Bulletholes left in my peepholes
|
| I’m suited up in street clothes
|
| Hand me a nine and I’ll defeat foes
|
| Y’all know my steelo with or without the airplay
|
| I keep some E&J, sittin bent up in the stairway
|
| Or either on the corner bettin Grants with the celo ch&s
|
| Laughin at baseheads, tryin to sell some broken &s
|
| G-Packs get off quick, forever niggaz talk shit
|
| Remeniscing about the last time the Task Force flipped
|
| Niggaz be runnin through the block shootin
|
| Time to start the revolution, catch a body head for Houston
|
| Once they caught us off guard, the Mac-10 was in the grass and
|
| I ran like a cheetah with thoughts of an assassin
|
| Pick the Mac up, told brothers, Back up, the Mac spit
|
| Lead was hittin niggaz one ran, I made him backflip
|
| Heard a few chicks scream my arm shook, couldn’t look
|
| Gave another squeeze heard it click yo, my shit is stuck
|
| Try to cock it, it wouldn’t shoot now I’m in danger
|
| Finally pulled it back and saw three bullets caught up in the chamber
|
| So now I’m jetting to the building lobby
|
| and it was filled with children probably couldn’t see as high as I be
|
| (So whatchu sayin?) It’s like the game ain’t the same
|
| Got younger niggaz pullin the triggers bringing fame to they name
|
| and claim some corners, crews without guns are goners
|
| In broad daylight, stickup kids, they run up on us
|
| Fo'-fives and gauges, Macs in fact
|
| Same niggaz’ll catch a back to back, snatchin yo’cracks in black
|
| There was a snitch on the block gettin niggaz knocked
|
| So hold your stash until the coke price drop
|
| I know this crackhead, who said she gotta smoke nice rock
|
| And if it’s good she’ll bring ya customers in measuring pots, but yo You gotta slide on a vacation
|
| Inside information keeps large niggaz erasin and they wives basin
|
| It drops deep as it does in my breath
|
| I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death
|
| Beyond the walls of intelligence, life is defined
|
| I think of crime when I’m in a New York state of mind
|
| Be havin dreams that I’ma gangster -- drinkin Moets, holdin Tecs
|
| Makin sure the cash came correct then I stepped
|
| Investments in stocks, sewein up the blocks
|
| to sell rocks, winnin gunfights with mega cops
|
| But just a nigga, walking with his finger on the trigger
|
| Make enough figures until my pockets get bigger
|
| I ain’t the type of brother made for you to start testin
|
| Give me a Smith and Wessun I’ll have niggaz undressin
|
| Thinkin of cash flow, buddah and shelter
|
| Whenever frustrated I’ma hijack Delta
|
| In the P.J.'s, my blend tape plays, bullets are strays
|
| Young bitches is grazed each block is like a maze
|
| full of black rats trapped, plus the Island is packed
|
| From what I hear in all the stories when my peoples come back, black
|
| I’m livin where the nights is jet black
|
| The fiends fight to get crack I just max, I dream I can sit back
|
| and l&like Capone, with drug scripts sewn
|
| Or the legal luxury life, rings flooded with stones, homes
|
| I got so many rhymes I don’t think I’m too sane
|
| Life is parallel to Hell but I must maintain
|
| and be prosperous, though we live dangerous
|
| cops could just arrest me, blamin us, we’re held like hostages
|
| It’s only right that I was born to use mics
|
| and the stuff that I write, is even tougher than dice
|
| I’m takin rappers to a new plateau, through rap slow
|
| My rhymin is a vitamin, Hell without a capsule
|
| The smooth criminal on beat breaks
|
| Never put me in your box if your shit eats tapes
|
| The city never sleeps, full of villians and creeps
|
| That’s where I learned to do my hustle had to scuffle with freaks
|
| I’ma addict for sneakers, twenties of buddah and bitches with beepers
|
| In the streets I can greet ya, about blunts I teach ya Inhale deep like the words of my breath
|
| I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death
|
| I lay puzzle as I backtrack to earlier times
|
| Nothing’s equivalent, to the new york state of mind |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song N.Y. State of Mind , by - Nas. Song from the album Illmatic: Live from the Kennedy Center with the National Symphony Orchestra, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп