| New York, New York, the city that never sleeps
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| Bodies, covered in white sheets, are layin in the streets
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| Shit gets deep, as we creep up the block by the kids slangin rocks
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| And holdin Glocks stolen from the cops to get props
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| You gotta split a top, on the regular
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| Or get plugged in your mug, from a slug, by your competitor
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| Gunshots echo throughout the city like thunder, no wonder
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| Another brother six feet under
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| You know it ain’t no jokin when the streetlights are broken
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| So keep your eyes open, or get ready for a, smokin 'loc
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| Step out of line, I hope you got your nine gun son
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| The Smith and Wess', you better press 9−1-1 (word up)
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| Or make a run for it there’s too many to tackle
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| The Big Apple’ll put your ass on ice like a Snapple
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| So even though I rap I gots to stay strapped
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| Niggas act up I back up (PI-YAH)
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| I bust a cap inside your fuckin hat
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| Don’t even pose with them hoes, the swinger that you chose
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| Just might be down with the foes, only the shadow knows
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| And ain’t no lollipop, lollipop over here only the shottie pops
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| (BOOM) Now just sit back and watch the bodies drop
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| The younger gunmen got the bigger niggas runnin
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| The shorties (what) the shorties (what) the shorties are comin
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| To push a nigga wig back, and leave his ass flat on his back
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| The motherfuckin ghetto knows, and it’s like that
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| Yo, you gotta go, you gotta go, you gotta go
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| (And aiyyo, what you don’t know, believe the ghetto knows)
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| Today’s headlines, another nigga dead
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| Six to the body and fo' to the head
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| Followed the red bitch in the bed full of lead
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| A drug-related case and now the place is filled with Feds
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| Ramshacked the shack, disclouse 'bout two kilos of dope
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| Two ounces of coke’s caught in the pocket of his coat
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| So, another brother caught the ultimate surprise
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| With blown out brains, to drop stains on his eyes
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| Dazed as I sit back and watch the channel two news
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| Watchin his family goin through all the boo-hoos
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| You lose, like an Ill Street, the Blues are gettin deeper
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| Nothin left in the room except for him, the Grim Reaper
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| Police will take a few snapshots, scoop up some blooddrops
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| Pull out a file on a juvenile child of mugshots
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| The cops knew he fell victim to laws on the street
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| So they just, pull out the white sheets, to cover up the dead meat
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| Seal off the area with yellow tape, draw the white
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| Chalk around the body now the party has to motivate
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| One more outlaw, was murdered on the scene for the green
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| Died at the age of seventeen
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| Yo, you gotta go, you gotta go, you gotta go
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| (And aiyyo, what you don’t know, believe the ghetto knows)
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| Strollin the concrete, packin my heat, walkin the backstreets
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| I seen niggas pull up, peepin me out the side a black Jeep
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| Six feet deep, that’s where I’m goin if I’m slippin
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| Steady cockin my shit cause I already got the clip in
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| Now who’s the first nigga to run up, here they come up
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| The block hardrocks with Glocks rollin holdin they guns up
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| I buck, I buck, and then I struck one in the chest
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| Nigga shoulda wore a vest but now his ass is put to rest
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| But now I got three mo' niggas, pullin triggers
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| Strays are ricochetin off the bricks, zigga zigga
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| But who got the biggest strap? |
| Who’s bustin bigger caps?
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| My BOOM BOOM BOOMS against they PAP PAP PAPS
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| No haps, G. Rap ain’t goin out like a sucker
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| I reloaded the shot and dropped another motherfucker
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| Quick, I duck and shit to dodge the bullets comin at me
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| Cause I won’t be too happy with a slug inside my nappy
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| Two more niggas left, they scared to death, but I’m leary
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| Shit gets kinda scary when I got bulletholes near me
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| I went between two cars, lettin off the quarter pound
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| I see another body fallin down to the ground
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| Quick I run up on him cause I don’t think that he’s dead
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| Standin over his ass I put two more inside his head
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| That’s three niggas down, only got one nigga to go
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| I gots to send his ass to the gravedigger so
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| I lay low in the cut and wait for moneygrip to slip up
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| Nearly shot my whole clip up, I got one more slug to rip up
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| Look over by the GS, see his ass stickin his head out
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| Boom, let the lead out, blew a piece of his brain dead out
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| The back of his head, now he’s dead, because he fell face down
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| Right on the motherfuckin streets that he dwelled
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| Yo, you gotta go, you gotta go, you gotta go
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| (And aiyyo, what you don’t know, believe the ghetto knows) |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Ghetto Knows, artist - Kool G Rap. Album song The Pre-Kill Vol. 2, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп