[Verse 1: Lloyd Banks]
How real is this? New York City, How real is this? New York City
America welcome to the land of the brave
America welcome to the land of the slave
Where they do anything for money the consequences is the cage
Follow the path of a dummy hop a fence into they grave
You could either live to regret or benefit from your ways
The enemies get what they deserve the innocents get disgraced
Everything ain't all gravy baby niggas subject to change
And it gotta be the paper 'cause niggas is actin strange
I wake up to my medicine, head throbbin, heart full of rage
Feelin dirty from haze as strong as thirty grenades
When it comes to ammunition there's 30 30s and Kays
And them Trays hold me down like that Du Rag that's on ya waves bro
America welcome to the land where they kill
America welcome to the land where they steal
Where niggas'll call ya bluff 'till you let 'em know shit is real
And material shit'll make bitches head over heels
Where drama appeals to most of the kids so they watch
Where they shoot at cops, and most little niggas don't know they pops
Where peer pressure comes on you smoke weed, get bent to be cool
Where the girls lose they virginity in elementary school
Where ambulances are late, club floors get left with stains
Over stepped on sneakers, nigga what set you claim
Where niggas are ghetto fabulous pullin' them nice whips
Where cops'll fuck you up with flashlights and night sticks whoa
America welcome to the land where they frame you
America welcome to the land where they hang you
Where it doesn't pay to live without sin don't be a angel
In a regular day just chillin a bullet can rearrange you
Where cats'll stab you the first time they get the chance too
The envious ways of a coward won't do nothing but amp you
I'm from South Side Jamaica where convicts and stars are born
Where you can wake up in the morning and ya brand new cars gone
Where niggas that you grew up with are speedin' and smokin' crack
Play Russian Roulette with they dreams and there's no way to get 'em back
Where the hood rats'll surround you to concentrate on ya stack
Its kinda hard to keep ya cool when there's constant hate on ya back
How real is this? New York City, How real is this? New York City
America welcome to the land of the brave
America welcome to the land of the slave
Where they do anything for money the consequences is the cage
Follow the path of a dummy hop a fence into they grave
You could either live to regret or benefit from your ways
The enemies get what they deserve the innocents get disgraced
Everything ain't all gravy baby niggas subject to change
And it gotta be the paper 'cause niggas is actin strange
I wake up to my medicine, head throbbin, heart full of rage
Feelin dirty from haze as strong as thirty grenades
When it comes to ammunition there's 30 30s and Kays
And them Trays hold me down like that Du Rag that's on ya waves bro
America welcome to the land where they kill
America welcome to the land where they steal
Where niggas'll call ya bluff 'till you let 'em know shit is real
And material shit'll make bitches head over heels
Where drama appeals to most of the kids so they watch
Where they shoot at cops, and most little niggas don't know they pops
Where peer pressure comes on you smoke weed, get bent to be cool
Where the girls lose they virginity in elementary school
Where ambulances are late, club floors get left with stains
Over stepped on sneakers, nigga what set you claim
Where niggas are ghetto fabulous pullin' them nice whips
Where cops'll fuck you up with flashlights and night sticks whoa
America welcome to the land where they frame you
America welcome to the land where they hang you
Where it doesn't pay to live without sin don't be a angel
In a regular day just chillin a bullet can rearrange you
Where cats'll stab you the first time they get the chance too
The envious ways of a coward won't do nothing but amp you
I'm from South Side Jamaica where convicts and stars are born
Where you can wake up in the morning and ya brand new cars gone
Where niggas that you grew up with are speedin' and smokin' crack
Play Russian Roulette with they dreams and there's no way to get 'em back
Where the hood rats'll surround you to concentrate on ya stack
Its kinda hard to keep ya cool when there's constant hate on ya back
Comments (0)
The minimum comment length is 50 characters.
Information
Users of Guests are not allowed to comment this publication.
There are no comments yet. You can be the first!