Lyrics Yo What's Good New York - Heems

Yo What's Good New York

Like a crow, Russell
Go Russell, it’s your birthday
I’m a bastard like Jon Snow
So I rocked the fur shoulder joint
While I cry about it
I’m supplied swords by hooded men
Goonish den where I lay at
Vajayjay they parade for me like I was Pat Sajak
Yaya baybay, how you living?
Me, I got a chip in my brain
And three titties to boot
So whatcha thinking?
Probably 'bout sex with me
Probably the next to be
Fucking with the three sea shells
Me I’m from the future
Watch how I maneuver
Brazilian, Xuxa
A million, Rugers
A thousand, island, dressing
I’m undressing and dismembering you
In my eyes and hive mind and brain
'95 kane’s car from light blue
Crystal, cleanest shit
Sharp as a thistle
Flyer than a regular piece of paper
Salmon with the mayo and the capers
Me I’m getting paper
Split hooves like a satyr
Living large boobs major
Sexy silly baby with the porcelain crown
Man down, man down
Momma, MOMA, Natural History Museum
Where I find my boney brethren
You can get in if you’re sexed in
See me sexting, creepy sex pin
Peep the deepest bluest
My hat is like a dick, bitch
I got the drugs by the part between the nuts and the asshole
Tom Selleck on the facial
Schwarzenegger figure from the '80s
Pasta tossed with basil
Sprinkle me with cheese
Got the hookup on the cable
Glass tables, feets up by the patio
She got the pussy from the sea
Diver Scallop rap got the bitches in the back
Blowing sack
Overaged just one or two years
Fuck me for New Year’s (Yeah)
I’m like The One Man Gang
Accompanied by Slick
Your company wasn’t fucking with me
Now you’re comfortably tugging on my dick
Hunger for a hit
Do a tumble and a flip, bitch
Shouts Queens, shouts my sister Shivani
Good bye solo, chop shop, man push cart
Ramin Bahrani, the ladies they Rani
Beauty who cop jewelry and Maharani-
Jewelers on Union Turnpike
Shouts to Dap’s mom, that’s Huma
Shouts to wrestlers, Yokozuna
Shouts to Tiger Ali Singh with bling on
Speaking Klingon
Kiss the ring on, my fingers, is what I’ve been on
Concurrent, young sleepy call me Venom
Flow is sharp, throwing darts
Dropping cats, Owen Hart
Florida grocery
Shoutout to Floetry
Shoutout to Bushra Rehman’s poetry
Shouts to Mohammad
We used to burn in the back of the Beamer
Third world fam
He was the first of the cats that called me Heema
Not for FEMA, schemer
For Abner Louima, dreamer
You ain’t on what Heems on (Uh!)
Walk with me, my shirts is lilac
My skin is brown
I’m blue so I rap
I cough til my capillaries burst
And I’m carried in a hearst
You’re carrying a purse
I’m valiant with words
Carrying the herb
Marrying the verbs
You all merry and you herbs
(Yeah!)