Lyrics Prince Of New York - KIllarmy, 9th Prince

Prince Of New York

I must’ve been away too long
My feelings are dead, I feel no remorse
It’s my turn…
Yo, yo y’all niggas is 9 to 5 niggas, I’m a survive nigga
I’m live like the shorties on your block with twin Glocks
Let off like an oo wop, thug life like 2Pac
Weed and crack, e-pills stashed inside my bulletproof Gucci socks
I 'blackout' like Red and Meth
When I first came in yea, the whole game slept
Ever since I was 17, I been snatchin' niggas' mics with the Five Fingers of
Death
Yo, the 9th Prince I rock a 9 on my chest
My criminology’s 'criminal minded' like KRS
Y’all need bald head niggas pullin' triggers
I put seven bullets in your figure
I’m slicker than Sharon Stone in Sliver, what I deliver send shivers
Like drowning in cold water runnin' through rivers
Y’all niggas in the field know how I build
Oh word, you ain’t heard?
16 shots to your grill
Lay down flat, roll on your face, pick up the pace
I’m like a hardcore version of the pretty boy Mase
I’m hot like lava, you get smacked in your teeth
For tryin' to disrespect the Killarm saga
My street army niggas is outsiders
We run a train on this white bitch look like Michelle Pfeiffer
I roll with a gang of niggas wild like Al Qaida, Al Qaida, yo
I’m the Prince of New York
The way that I walk, make the girls hawk
I was born on Staten Island so that’s the way that I talk
Outline your body in chalk, and stab you with a rusty fork
Ey yo the streets is flooded with crack cocaine
My brain rain like a hurricane, spit flame, till I’m insane
Like a cowboy, hooded up on the iron horse train
Bitches maintain, stink hoes know my name
Clothes I never change, rearrange the game
Now every thug wanna feel my pain
Smack 'em in the brain for being the lame
Cut 'em up in pieces, then flush 'em down the drain
Them dogs is pitbulls, I’m more like a great dane
Robbed the hottest chick in the game, for her man’s chain
Word up, yo
Yea that’s how we do it
In the year two thousand and four and five
Y’all niggas is straight jive, word up
Yea, one love to my peoples
J-Love, word up, Kay Slay
Pete Rock and Marley Marl, and all you underdog DJ’s
My man Alexander the Great, eatin' niggas like steak
Killarm, the 9th Prizm get up in 'em, yea, for real
(You think ambushing me in some nightclub’s
Gonna stop what makes people take drugs?
This country spends a hundred billion dollars a year on getting high
And it’s not because of me, all that time I was wasting in jail
It just got worse, I’m not your problem, I’m just a businessman.)