Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song New York City, artist - Troy Ave. Date of issue: 03.11.2013
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
New York City |
| Aye yo, times is hard, but we get through em |
| And even though it’s crime involved, we had to do 'em |
| By any means, Malcolm X marks the spot |
| I went from ridin' bikes to ridin' through in a drop |
| The road to success for me was real gritty |
| Wasn’t no stress for me, don’t feel pity |
| Life is a bitch and she sure ain’t pretty |
| And I’mma do me anyway, nigga |
| Cause I’m from New York City |
| I break bread, ribs, hundred dollar bills |
| A young prodigy when it come to drug deals |
| In New York I get blood money |
| Dirty cash bought my matte black Jeep |
| I used to skip out on cabs |
| Went from givin' no dough to given limos to get to shows |
| Either way I’m driven — the shit shows |
| Spit flows like boat sick hoes, Yachtmaster Rolex watch above my Mo' |
| Drinkin' champagne out the bottle |
| Young Crisco, pop it, hop in, let’s politic, ditto |
| Same niggas sayin' «time to get this money» |
| They’ve been the same niggas sayin' that for years, still hungry |
| New discussion: New York artists wanna be southern |
| The city’s lost, so out-of-towners find themselves frontin' |
| It was Big, Jay Z, now Troy Ave here after |
| But Kendrick Lamar’s just a weirdo rapper |
| We went from Uzis to elephant guns |
| Small pistols on Gynsills — little shorties, cheeba, big forties |
| Sittin' back in the 'hood — good, nigga, good |
| Retrievin' every dollar bill, grabbin' my wood |
| You know we specialists at nighttime |
| Call us the poisonous pumpers |
| Who run up on these niggas like Nightline |
| The arsonists and good vines |
| That means the wares is amazing — assignment, baby, since '89 |
| Creepin' through hallways, big laundry bags |
| Four Ks — handle them niggas, now jam niggas |
| Fuck they gon' do with no CREAM? |
| You might as well be a bum |
| Cause you could never represent the money team |
| We smash faces, flash bracelets, that’s the basic |
| Don’t get smacked in your mouth with 45 razors |
| Yeah, the jungle brothers rollin' with all coverage |
| Get 'em young Troy — What? |
| He fucked with us |
| You know how I steady rock — New York City bop |
| Used to slang grainy rock — war on the petty block |
| Back-to-back cases |
| Now we drink liquor, drinkin' back-to-back cases |
| No, we ain’t erase this |
| Spades hand, aces — out of town papers |
| Luck’s all Vegas — herb shit, Avis |
| I graduated from the street life accordingly |
| Said my first rhyme on a jail phone, recordedly |
| I been shot niggas since 14 |
| I’ve been to war, mean — got guns from Fort Greene |
| I extorted niggas — I was the re-up man |
| I gave the orders, nigga — P.A.P.I. |
| gave the orders, nigga |
| King flow, used to get coke from Domingo |
| Get up in the old folks' home, he’s playin' bingo |
| He sold it for 10, but I got em for cinco |
| Safe in the ceiling, the guns under the sink flow |
| The life and times of a New York Nigga, we very different |
| Please pardon my aggression, but move from my vision |
| With that bullshit you spittin', you talkin' my high off |
| You blowin' my vibe, you forcin' my iron off my belt |
| I’m forcin' myself to be chill |
| Listen to them journalists, get yourself killed |
| They ain’t never lived this life, and no near nothin' 'bout it |
| They hide behind aliases and talk rowdy |
| From behind a MacBook, fuck a blog, dawg |
| If I see you in the flesh you’ll be shook |
| Like a martini — I know they tired of me |
| I know they wish I would die already, but I’m very dope |
| I’m so cold, you should get your February coat |
| That NY shit, you niggas got warm hearts |
| No offense, but I’ll tear you apart |
| No matter which part of the map you reppin', get your weapon |