| I remember drinking 50 cent nutties sittin' on the stoop, listenin' to 'Gimme
|
| The Loot'
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| The truths were hard and the lies were in abundance
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| Back when all that mattered was vaginas you done bust in or the fights that you
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| done won, shit
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| You needed some stories, old heads told you bout 'back in the day'
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| Speaking passionately, we lusted for our own tails
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| But now I’m older, hear our stories get retold by all my friends and shit,
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| an honest recollection be like so rare
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| Cyclical embellishment be only to our detriment, 'cause we going on decades of
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| money, pussy, weed fetishes
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| Rhetoric be redundant, heaven be when the blunt lit, discussion rarely meanders
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| to waters we ain’t accustomed, it’s hard
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| Remember after dark, we used to bring the gloves out, and back further we was
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| playing manhunt
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| We didn’t know the cops was playing too on anybody with a tan
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| But got a little older and began to understand what the city about
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| Shit, the beauty and the wickedness, profundity and simpleness
|
| We right up in the thick of it, grab a 40 and listen to tales of glory and
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| sinnin'
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| If our best days behind us, we ain’t gon' never forget 'em
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| New York, New York, I’m a Hell’s Kitchen baby
|
| Born with a pitchfork, you could never play me
|
| Born with the shit talk, I don’t need that praise, B
|
| Shouts to the city that raised me
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| You can take my blocks, you ain’t takin' my pride
|
| Catch me at the corner store, I be waitin' outside
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| I’m from 'round here, yeah, motherfucker I’m from 'round here, yeah
|
| I remember when Pat punched dude off his skateboard for breathing
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| When Mike fought on 48th street to squash the beef
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| When every year, it was lit at the 9th ave. |
| festival
|
| Throwin' stink bombs under tables, shit, just to mess with you
|
| Hittin' chicks in staircases, roofs, and playgrounds too
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| I’m paintin' you a picture, ain’t always say I was proud to, hey
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| It’s what it is, those days when we was kids lasted longer for some
|
| I seen that quandary become unbearable for a few now
|
| Watch my big bro lose his mind to the stress, he walkin' round without a crew
|
| now
|
| Ain’t always stick to the script but the loyalty the glue now
|
| When push comes to shove I hold everyone in my crew down
|
| But see, the thing is in New York, even that corner store know that any minute,
|
| shit
|
| He could get evicted and replaced by some fucking organic spinach
|
| So it’s every man for himself and that’s just how we live in New York
|
| New York, New York, I’m a Hell’s Kitchen baby
|
| Born with a pitchfork, you could never play me
|
| Born with the shit talk, I don’t need that praise, B
|
| Shouts to the city that raised me
|
| You can take my blocks, you ain’t takin' my pride
|
| Catch me at the corner store, I be waitin' outside
|
| I’m from 'round here, yeah, motherfucker I’m from 'round here, yeah
|
| You can take my blocks, you ain’t takin' my pride
|
| Catch me at the corner store, I be waitin' outside
|
| I’m from 'round here, yeah, motherfucker I’m from 'round here, yeah |