Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song New York, artist - AZ. Album song A.W.O.L., in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 05.09.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Quiet Money Direct
Song language: English
New York |
This is that, Rikers Island, not slipping rap flows |
For them box bitten bing monsters, sniffin' that blow |
Block huggers know the style, triple that dough |
Forty cal. |
for them cock suckers, sit ‘em back slow |
What y’all know about coke pies, give 'em that low |
I’m Malcolm before the bow tie, the simple cash flow |
Rap NY, no lie, my side is Tabasco, so hot |
Crooked cops are searching your asshole, it’s the drop |
That freeze niggas right where they stand for the gwap |
Niggas’ll play Pac and pop at they man, it don’t stop |
We up top, but we locked and landing |
He roadblock, he flow shots, get ghost and scram |
Gingerbread niggas on the run from feds |
Shit is sick, pretty chicks’ll put a gun to ya head |
Never a vic', either think quick or end up dead |
Cuz when we flip, what’s left to be said? |
New York |
New York, New York, New York |
«New York, New York» |
«Number One» |
«New York, New York» |
«Keep it real» «I get ill» |
«New York, New York» |
«Number one» |
«New York, New York» |
«The city» «I gotta get in» |
You know the town stupid, this is all authentic ground |
You can get poked, grabbed and choked, then shot up, for product |
Bank holders stay in the lab, too many dumb niggas is scheming |
You can get murked up in the cab |
Shout out to niggas that be jerking tags, rollin' in Jags |
Good boy leathers, hood boys’ll blast you |
Niggas that carry ones and hit grass |
And love hip hop, the shit that bring money outta ziplocs |
Protect your dome, I’m warning you, what harm I do to the kid |
I have you on the floor with ya armor loose |
Break the raw down and sign truces |
Then switch the next muthafuckin' date, fuck all excuses |
When you see me it’s real, I’m just a natural born hustler |
The castle where they wrap you in plastic, duke |
So every soldier that’s armed, remind your general |
It’s critical, you might stay a night, if you presentable |
Yo, we was raised in the dead arm district |
Before guns was called biscuits, Stapleton was on that hood shit |
Live from the New York borough, keeping it thorough |
Bunch of snakes in the grass, stay creepin' like squirrels |
Cuz a snitch gon' crack that nut, don’t give a fuck |
Did ten hours long and try to wrap us up |
He dry snitching, post up in the whip with a fly wisdom |
Hopped out to get a dutch, but he left with his wig splitten |
We from New York, my city never sleeps (No) |
We runnin' with a hundred heats |
When beef pop off, we ain’t the one to speak |
Dressed in all black, driving sixteen hearses |
With sixteen niggas, dropping sixteen verses |
Big faces, bolgin' outta big green purses |
Stuck ya man for his vegi’s and his lame ass circus |
So I dare niggas act up, y’all niggas act up |
Now like cars in reverse, y’all better back up |