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Yeah, yeah, yo, yo Yeah, yeah, yo, trapacanti, yo When I walk these streets, like bamboo I'm strapped Get your brain tapped by forty-four caliber gats It ain't like that, cats gotta learn to relax If I let the gun clap, you have no wish, you're on your ass If you see at cat without his vest hangin' by his neck Then LA done it, I'm tryin' to see this Benz six-hundred With a fly bitch, a gat and cognac gettin' blunted Readin' the tablet of my money from the kids that I fronted You don't want it, shootin' slugs outta an armored green lex From four pounds that fuck you up like a plane wreck Don't gamble with a tech, car is quicker than the eye My style, top secret like the Bosnian spy Now Y, New York have you laced in chalk The South Bronx, what you thought when we let are guns talk? It's bloodsport, the Darkman call it like he sees Been in buildings, doin' eighty in a black M3 Medallion swingin' on linx, costin' 'bout ten G's N.Y.C., where killas bust cops at me When I walk these streets, like bamboo I'm strapped Get your brain tapped by fourty-four caliber gats It ain't like that, cats gotta learn to relax If I let the gun clap, you have no wish, you're on your ass New York ain't fuckin' playas, we love gun sprayers Movin' crack from the streets of Manhatt' to the Himalayans Amadeus, why these Cali craps tryin' to front? Ass gotta cut ropes, tryin' to bungee jump Tight cunt, all white planes roll, we night creepers In bubble coats, eight hundred beapers, force one sneakers I stay fly, holdin' it down for my block What up ock? You could get a four-four shot And don't think it can't happen 'cuz you on the TV rappin' I sneakin' from B.X., B.K. and the Staten Manhatten and Queens jookin' kids for rings New York, New York, the big city of dreams Some rap legends were put in jail, you thought we failed Now I'm back like LL, when he was rockin' the bells Takin' rap back to the days of food stamps and tramps Pit stains in the stair case and vise-grip clamps Kid, I'm amped, cats try to diss the originators In Land Cruisers, on Timbs, subways and elevators Holdin' steel, you frontin' niggaz better get real I'm gettin' money, blow my nose with a hundred dollar bill How you feel? And fuck where you at, it's where you from To that cats, that's eighty-five, blind, deaf and dumb Run and get your gun, I come in the name of Allah To my people, the Inglewood family swine, power refined You can't see, we runnin' outta time If the east and west kill each other, who gon' shine? We losin' our mind, this rap shit is turnin' into crime Nowadays soft niggaz bust techs and nines So, what? |