N.Y. State of Mind

Yeah, yeah, ayo, Black it's time (Word? Word, it's time man?)

Yeah, it's time, man (Aight ****, begin)

Yeah, straight out the fuckin' dungeons of rap

Where fake **** don't make it back (I don't know how to start this shit, yo)

Rappers, I monkey flip 'em with the funky rhythm

I be kicking, musician, inflictin' composition

Of pain, I'm like Scarface sniffin' cocaine

Holding an M-16, see, with the pen I'm extreme

Now, bullet holes left in my peepholes, I'm suited up with 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, sitting bent up in the stairway

Or either on the corner betting Grants with the cee-lo champs

Laughing at baseheads tryna sell some broken amps

G-packs get off quick, forever **** talk shit

Reminiscing about the last time the Task Force flipped

**** 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' ****, 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' to the building lobby

And it was full of children, probably couldn't see as high as I be

So what you saying? (It's like the game ain't the same)

Got younger **** pulling the triggers, bringing fame to their name

And claim some corners, crews without guns are goners

In broad daylight, stickup kids, they run up on us

.45's and gauges, MACs in fact

Same **** will catch a back-to-back, snatching your cracks in black

There was a snitch on the block gettin' **** knocked

So hold your stash till 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 in measuring pots

But yo, you gotta slide on a vacation, inside information

Keeps large **** 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 a 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 having dreams that I'm a gangsta, drinking Moëts, holding TECs

Making sure the cash came correct, then I stepped

Investments in stock, sewing up the blocks to sell rocks

Winning gunfights with mega-cops

But just a **** 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 & Wesson, I'll have **** undressin'

Thinking of cash flow, Buddah and shelter

Whenever frustrated, I'm a hijack Delta

In the PJs, 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 living 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, blaming 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'm taking 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 an addict for sneakers, 20s 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

New York state of mind

New York state of mind

New York state of mind

Nasty Nas

Nasty Nas

Nasty Nas

Nasty Nas