| Yeah. |
| uhh. |
| yeah.
|
| «;Rough enough to break New York from Long Island»; |
| → My Melody
|
| Yeah it’s the God baby.
|
| Long Island’s own.
|
| barbarian of the microphone.
|
| «;Rough enough to break New York from Long Island»; |
| → My Melody
|
| It’s for y’all niggaz
|
| And the streets just a couple of miles East of Mecca
|
| Where peeps touch nuttin but style heat and cheddar
|
| Compete witcha livelihood to eat better
|
| And ain’t nuttin sweet but the ladies who speak wetta
|
| With a torn smile, tryin to get my song on file
|
| It’s on now, the whole town done gone wild
|
| Kick rhymes off my heartbeat as a unborn child
|
| Then developed a strong style on Long Isle
|
| Won’t be long now, I started rhymin young
|
| I designed for fun, knowin my time would come
|
| I started, payin dues DJin with crews
|
| Learnin the inner city rules, conveyin the news
|
| Soon as the jam start the man’s art’ll jam parks
|
| Slam so hard it remains a landmark
|
| The rhyme that I’m stylin, smooth as a violin
|
| but «;Rough enough to break New York from Long Island»; |
| → My Melody
|
| Like any G.O.D., loose on a spree for new degrees
|
| Things to do and see until nuttin is new to me
|
| A true MC usually be into a breeze
|
| And I can still see New York City through the trees
|
| My advance slams put you outside lookin in
|
| or the other way around, that depends, look again
|
| Took a pen so you could zero in on my book of gems
|
| It extends from the Hamptons to Brook-lyn
|
| Through every hoodie in town, to learn the Boogie Down
|
| til every DJ around, wanted to put me down
|
| Rhymes got rougher til I was ready to blast off
|
| and harass all from Suffolk County to Nassau
|
| where we keep the money pilin, keep the honies smilin
|
| Keep the heater just in case kids start whylin
|
| The rhyme that I’m stylin, smooth as a violin
|
| «;Rough enough to break New York from Long Island»; |
| → My Melody
|
| Grew up in Wyndanch, formerly known as Crime-Danch
|
| Me and my mans we travel lands to find jams
|
| where violence usually ends in sirens
|
| By all means, we all fiend for finance
|
| We make cash on the street called straight path
|
| We take class, build with the Gods with great math
|
| Everyday true to the street, and never fronted
|
| Along the way, learned from the best that ever done it |