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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
J. Cole
Vocals
Ron Gilmore
Keyboards
50 Cent
Vocals
Bas
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Abbas Hamad
Songwriter
C. Jackson
Songwriter
Jermaine Lamarr Cole
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
J. Cole
Producer
Juro "Mez" Davis
Mixing Engineer
Chris Athens
Mastering Engineer
Mark Pitts
Executive Producer
Roc Nation
Executive Producer
Lyrics
[Verse 1]
This for all my **** in the city
But this shit really for Queens though
Really for Queens though
You know?
[Verse 2]
Big city of dreams, motivated by schemes
Getting money regimen
With my getting money regime
Nah I mean?
Yeah
[Verse 3]
Yeah, New York Times
Come listen to these New York rhymes
A southern **** with a New York mind
In the concrete jungle of Queens, trying to be kings
Getting to the money of sins by any means
As I watch it all pan out, try not to stand out
Fish out of water, yet an official reporter
Up here, life is a bitch, I blow a kiss at her daughter
In the city where ****'ll leave your shit outta order
So, yeah, you heard the news, disturbing news
Shot **** brother in the head, thank the Lord he ain't dead
Was in the coma for months, eyes ain't open, not once
My **** visibly stressed in a mess, he's smoking his blunt
What could I say, I can't relate to that
All I do is pray for that
This the city God told me, go and make it at
I got a date with destiny, I'm running late for that
Grab a paper, hey kid, you gotta pay for that
[Verse 4]
The New York Times, yeah
The New York Times
(Extra, extra, read all about it)
They say you can win anywhere if you can win here
And you ain't been nowhere if you ain't been here
Hustle hard, yeah, it really ain't a game, mane
Same places, different faces on the train, mane
New York, New York
[Verse 5]
Hop on the F Train, took the express train
Skip that local shit, my vocal's sick, that's how success came
Once kings, now we pawns in this chess game
Wall Street got black slave blood stains
Which means we built this city
And never got scraps while the devil got fat
In fact, reparations for **** in desperation
Fuck money, give my kid a real education
Blood money spills, had a real revelation
Southside make you realize there's still segregation
Don't wanna preach, I'm just thinking out loud
Sometimes I wanna save the world and I be thinking 'bout how
My motive to lead my **** to paradise
Imagine the world free from pain and we no longer scared at night
Far from the crime, the blind leading the blind
We don't make the primetime till we dying
[Verse 6]
The New York Times
The New York Times, yeah
The New York Times
(Extra, extra, read all about it)
They say you can win anywhere if you can win here
And you ain't been nowhere if you ain't been here
Hustle hard, yeah, it really ain't a game, mane
Same places, different faces on the train, mane
New York, New York
[Verse 7]
How I go from selling reefer and plates
To eating steaks with Cole and playing FIFA with Drake?
Should've been in the stakes, property of the Jakes
Now I'm plotting on profits and properties on the lake
Let me properly integrate you to it
To show you how the heads of states and the gangsters do it
Them **** talk a lot of shit but they ain't been through it
I done been up in everything, cars you never seen
Cities you never heard of
From the streets where they murder
Police observe us till they reach the verdict
Kill 'em all, fuck it, kill 'em all
If you can't send 'em to the pen, send 'em to the morgue
Send 'em to the Lord, fuck it, send his broad
Hundred shots through the dark but they never hit my heart, ****
Bitch ****, take a pause
Hundred shots through the dark, you could never hit my heart
[Verse 8]
New York Times
The New York Times, yeah
The New York Times
(Extra, extra, read all about it)
They say you can win anywhere if you can win here
And you ain't been nowhere if you ain't been here
Hustle hard, yeah, it really ain't a game, mane
Same places, different faces on the train, mane
New York, New York
Written by: 50 Cent, Bas, J. Cole