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Viewing Lyrics for NY State of Mind:
| | | Artist: | Nas |
| | Album: | Illmatic | | Track: | NY State of Mind | | | | Date Added: | 18/10/2007 | | Views: | 81 | | | | Lyrics: | Intro: Nas
Yeah yeah aiyyo black it's time (word?)
(Word
it's time nigga?)
Yeah it's time man (aight nigga begin)
Yeah
straight out the fuckin dungeons of rap
Where fake niggaz don't make it back
I
don't know how to start this shit yo now
Verse One: Nas
Rappers I monkey flip em with the funky rhythm I be kickin
Musician inflictin
composition
of pain I'm like Scarface sniffin cocaine
Holdin a M-16, see with the
pen I'm extreme, now
Bulletholes left in my peepholes
I'm suited up in street
clothes
Hand me a nine 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 celo champs
Laughin at baseheads, tryin to sell some broken amps
G-Packs get off quick, forever niggaz talk shit
Remeniscing about the last time the
Task Force flipped
Niggaz 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
Pick the Mac up,
told brothers, "Back up," the Mac spit
Lead was hittin niggaz 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
Try 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 jetting to
the building lobby
and it was filled with children probably couldn't see as high as I be
(So whatchu sayin?) It's like the game ain't the same
Got younger niggaz pullin the
triggers bringing fame to they name
and claim some corners, crews without guns are goners
In broad daylight, stickup kids, they run up on us
Fo'-fives and gauges, Macs in fact
Same niggaz'll catch a back to back, snatchin yo' cracks in black
There was a snitch
on the block gettin niggaz knocked
So hold your stash until the coke price drop
I
know this crackhead, who said she gotta smoke nice rock
And if it's good she'll bring ya
customers in measuring pots, but yo
You gotta slide on a vacation
Inside information
keeps large niggaz erasin and they 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 a New York state of mind
("New York
state of mine" --> Rakim *repeat 4X*)
Verse Two: Nas
Be havin dreams
that I'ma gangster -- drinkin Moets, holdin Tecs
Makin sure the cash came correct then I
stepped
Investments in stocks, sewein up the blocks
to sell rocks, winnin gunfights
with mega cops
But just a nigga, walking 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 and Wessun I'll have niggaz undressin
Thinkin of cash flow, buddah
and shelter
Whenever frustrated I'ma hijack Delta
In the P.J.'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 dice
I'm takin rappers to a new plateau, through rap slow
My
rhymin is a vitamin, Hell 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 villians and
creeps
That's where I learned to do my hustle had to scuffle with freaks
I'ma addict
for sneakers, twenties of buddah 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" --> Rakim
*repeat 4X*)
("Nasty Nas" --> cut and scratched 8X | | | |
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