lirik lagu z% york – phil walker
(sample)
“this is the place where stars are born ( i took raps & then convert it into a hip hop form) mad n-ggas think about taking mines, i stay in murder scandals, & dust the finger prints off burning handles”
(verse 1)
it goes, lifestyles of the rich & poor
where young n-ggas a slit ya jaws
then clip you off if you pop chris or pour(paul)
you pitching raw? better set up at a distant store
them hammers ah pop n-ggas drop because of distinct flaws
cops catching cases, b-tches going through phases
sh-t been going for ages, but we seek revelation
family members erasing, you can try to yellow page ‘em
get a n-gga weed & lace ‘em, sh-t routine don’t phase ‘em
under pressure trail dating, judges violate
and annihilating that sense of prosperity on guys faces
we invest in crime ratings, life expectancy low as clock patients
time waits for no man, y’all n-ggas ah die pacing
i’m from new york and never liked the knicks
i’m on some type of sh-t, if a b-tch have aids, then i’ma wife the b-tch
‘cus i’m one who likes to chase death
y’all scary, f-ck an aids test
your style is so dead, i need to take breath’s
(verse 2)
we get erratic when it comes to static
and our hands are automatic, so act crazy we’ll let ya mother have it
a b-st-rd child, never act this wild
a menstrual couldn’t cramp our style
and i’ma p-ss it down to my b-st-rd child
we running from no man, better get the program
with a strength like conan’s, flood
the corner slinging that lindsey lohan
you wonder like cult jam, how this youngin’ flowing like old cam
i’m f-cking hoes fam, ya girl ah tell you but her throat jammed
and guess what’s in it, my windows tinted, and plus the whip is rented
we don’t care ya relation you better mind ya business
in the projects, sitting and reminiscing about that pot to p-ss in
from the rust to the copper so we made br-ss decisions
give ‘em our -ss to kiss, and n-ggas don’t think we better with bad decisions, reloaded the mag then lift…
(bridge: moe)
nah nah nah nah, yo phil f-ck that!
man talk about ya life man, f-ck that!
(verse 3)
ayo, i got swag you can’t copy sl!ck
on the eastside of harlem, better known as h-e double hockey sticks
a born vet, so y’all all pet, and more stressed
i go to war margielas on, a worn vest with the gortex
aiming at rappers, bringing them all death
just leaving the morgue left
n-ggas don’t know, i’m fouler then four techs
and double down, while y’all fumble rounds
think y’all rappers hungry
well my gut be full and still make jungle sounds
think ya rappers on a run; well i’m here to slow you down
elaborated ya fabrications with all them funny sounds
infatuated with what i’m saying, don’t have to dumb it down
i rep my town, they’re glad i made it so n-ggas hold me down
got fronted-a-pound, had them dusty n-ggas pitching
running it down, i flooded the mound
now i’m clocking hits, and i’m controlling the crown
i’m always sober, ‘laxed in the rover
my time ain’t slowing down
dames dashing just to come over
this that new hova sound
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