Yeah, yeah
Ayo, Black, it’s time, word (Word, it’s time, man)
It’s time, man (Aight, man, begin)
Yeah, straight out the fuckin’ dungeons of rap
Where fake niggas don’t make it back
I don’t know how to start this shit, yo… now
Rappers; I monkey flip ’em with the funky rhythm I be kickin’
Musician, inflictin’, composition
Of pain, I’m like Scarface sniffin’ cocaine
Holdin’ an M16, see with the pen I’m extreme
Now, bullet holes left in my peepholes
I’m suited up in street clothes, hand me a 9 and I’ll defeat foes
Y’all know my steelo, with or without the airplay
I keep some E&J, sittin’ bent up in the stairway
Or either on the corner bettin’ Grants with the cee-lo champs
Laughin’ at base-heads, tryna sell some broken amps
G-packs get off quick, forever niggas talk shit
Reminiscin’ about the last time the task force flipped
Niggas be runnin’ through the block shootin’
Time to start the revolution, catch a body, head for Houston
Once they caught us off-guard, the MAC-10 was in the grass, and
I ran like a cheetah, with thoughts of an assassin
Picked the MAC up, told brothers “Back up!” — the MAC spit
Lead was hittin’ niggas, one ran, I made him backflip
Heard a few chicks scream, my arm shook, couldn’t look
Gave another squeeze, heard it click, “Yo, my shit is stuck!”
Tried to cock it, it wouldn’t shoot, now I’m in danger
Finally pulled it back and saw three bullets caught up in the chamber
So, now I’m jettin’ through the buildin’ lobby
And it was full of children, prob’ly couldn’t see as high as I be
(So, what you sayin’?)
It’s like the game ain’t the same
Got younger niggas pullin’ the triggers, bringin’ fame to their name
And claim some corners, crews without guns are goners
In broad daylight, stick-up kids, they run up on us
.45’s and gauges, MAC’s in fact
Same niggas will catch you back-to-back, snatchin’ your cracks in black
There was a snitch on the block gettin’ niggas knocked
So hold your stash ’til the coke price drop
I know this crackhead who said she got to smoke nice rock
And if it’s good she’ll bring you customers and measuring pots, but yo
You gotta slide on a vacation
Inside information keeps large niggas erasin’ and their wives basin’
It drops deep as it does in my breath
I never sleep, ’cause sleep is the cousin of death
Beyond the walls of intelligence, life is defined
I think of crime when I’m in the New York State of Mind
New York state of mind
New York state of mind
New York state of mind
New York state of mind
Be havin’ dreams that I’m a gangsta, drinkin’ Moëts, holdin’ TEC’s
Makin’ sure the cash came correct, then I stepped
Investments in stocks, sewin’ up the blocks to sell rocks
Winnin’ gunfights with mega-cops
But just a nigga walkin’ with his finger on the trigger
Make enough figures until my pockets get bigger
I ain’t the type of brother made for you to start testin’
Give me a Smith & Wesson, I have niggas undressin’
Thinkin’ of cash flow, Buddha and shelter
Whenever frustrated, I’ma hijack Delta
In the PJ’s, my blend tape plays, bullets are strays
Young bitches is grazed, each block is like a maze
Full of black rats trapped plus the Island is packed
From what I hear in all the stories when my peoples come back
Black, I’m livin’ where the nights is jet-black
The fiends fight to get crack, I just max, I dream I can sit back
And lamp like Capone, with drug scripts sewn
Or the legal luxury life, rings flooded with stones, homes
I got so many rhymes, I don’t think I’m too sane
Life is parallel to Hell, but I must maintain
And be prosperous, though we live dangerous
Cops could just arrest me, blamin’ us; we’re held like hostages
It’s only right that I was born to use mics
And the stuff that I write is even tougher than dykes
I’ve taken rappers to a new plateau
Through rap slow, my rhymin’ is a vitamin held without a capsule
The smooth criminal on beat breaks
Never put me in your box if your shit eats tapes
The city never sleeps, full of villains and creeps
That’s where I learned to do my hustle, had to scuffle with freaks
I’m a addict for sneakers, 20’s of Buddha and bitches with beepers
In the streets I can greet ya, about blunts I teach ya
Inhale deep like the words of my breath
I never sleep, ’cause sleep is the cousin of death
I lay puzzle as I backtrack to earlier times
Nothing’s equivalent to the New York state of mind
New York state of mind
New York state of mind
New York state of mind
New York state of mind
“Nasty Nas—”