| A is for the apple, take a bite and spit it out
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| B is for bodega, eatin' on your mama couch
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| Low bazooka with a Puerto-Rican chula
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| Says she workin' in the city and she gettin' moolah
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| C is for the crib, the cats that call you catch
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| CBGB’s babies sneakin' blondie through the back
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| D is for the downtown kids that’s hittin' licks
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| Skater boys in the park tryna fuck some white chicks
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| E is for the East Side, Ruff Ryder Ride or Die
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| Motorbikes from every side
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| Flyin' down the FDR, breakin' Dutches in the car
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| G is for the ghetto girl and Rainbow clothes
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| Baby hairs and well done toes, single mothers carry those
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| Bummy sneakers, what are those? |
| Get in goin', golden go
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| Hunts Point got the hottest hoes, inner city, tragic woes
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| Splattered streets, the bloody holes, shorty dancin' on the pole
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| Casually it’s casual b, bloody hands with the anatomy
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| Jehovah witness at your door, actin' like nobody home
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| TV off, all alone, kick the door in, mama Jonesin' on the phone
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| Bata and a doobie on, waiting on her tax return
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| Low lives lightin' Ls, pourin' down for ones they love
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| Tompkins Square, lower east, Delancey for the deli meats
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| You don’t come to C or D
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| I’m in Manhattan like I’m Woody Allen
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| Jewish, Puerto-Rican and a little bit Italian
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| Sittin' on the steps outside the Natural History
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| New York fuckin' City and I love the history
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| Everything a meltin' pot, every block is fuckin' hot
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| 83rd the train stop, open cases, old as shorty braces
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| Pick you up on warrant squad, now they runnin' faces
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| Pick you up by the park, we was voguing by the pier
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| Paris burnin', full of Queens, hit the Village every year
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| Rollin' now to the rave, Village Voice, six page
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| I was diving off the stage, going now, every day
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| Stickball in the summer, you know it’s summertime
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| Schomburg, eatin' soul food, singin' Doo-Wop every night
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| Subway trains goin' by, squad is sittin' St. Marks
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| Shootin' up in Tompkins park, know it’s dirty after dark
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| Tunnels takin' turns, playin' tag on the curb
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| Touchin' on some titties, takin' change out your purse
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| Undercover agents I can spot them all away
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| Yo, I hate the fuckin' cops, NYPD get away
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| Underground are MTA, close my eyes and ride the train
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| Back and forth on everyday, anywhere, anyway
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| Xerox copied Zines stapled onto poser trees
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| Got a show, come and see, New York is the place to be
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| Here you go and live your dreams
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| Livin' in the city you can’t be a xenophobe
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| This the melting pot, and the soup is never cold
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| Young lords, young lords, they live inside of me
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| I got a problem B, with white supremacy
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| Rollin' through my zipcode, One double zero two nine
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| ABC’s of New York, and I’ll be doing fine |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song ABCs of New York , by - Princess Nokia. Song from the album 1992 Deluxe, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп