KHM - New York lyrics

[Intro: Kool Keith] Yo, you know what? You could go to all the states in the world See girls with long hair, flat stomachs Goin' back and forth to the gym, workin' out And they be talkin' to you You get in New York... girls be frontin' They have a little bit of tiny hair on they head Or some just walk around with braids You can't tell 'em nuttin' Yo... they be k**in' me [H-Bomb] Easy mon, blood clot, blood cleat with gold teeth He peekin' at Kool Keith, Marc Live, and me We - fly LAX to JFK, take it one way You twisted, Jacky J ain't plan to stay I'm on a one way, beamin' a poor chick in L.A Play - these chickens, break rules I pack steels, do big drug deals You in tennis shoes, where's your heels? And you expect me to pay for these meals Where's your spouse? You live with your moms, is that a mouse I'm breakin' out bounce, my man Ice-T got a penthouse Four deep hits, scores, V.I.P We fingerbang chickens in lace, no space - fast race Big Lonnie on Webster Ave with a screw face, briefcase Three ki's taste with a rusty screw driver and waste Your right hand man got replaced You chase - baby makers, parts, heart breakers Want papers - yes, them Murray gators huh? You're man work in Manhattan up in Houlihan's as a waiters, laters You worship them slave owners on green papers, haters I'm back in L.A. with three hoes in a Wilshire skyscrapers [Hook] - X 2 New York belongs to me! (Not him, or yooouuuu) New York belongs to me! (Not him, or yooouuuu) [Marc Live] I walk through your city like a juggernaut You kids is astronauts, all in space Right to your face, no welcome mats just welcome caps A community of big city kids in black hats Catch me in a New York strip club slappin' a phat a** You don't get no pa**, it's the big three - H, Marc, and Keith Top general chiefs, no games, forget the friends baby Let's go straight to the brains, an even exchange No heated exchange, we show the hotel the after party Lot of Bacardi and Limon, heavy smoke and plenty of grindin' I left L.A. real quick to see who's rhymin' - Who's talkin' mess and who's lyin' Who shippin' weight express mail, no Greyhound - we flyin' Forty-two street triple X, we buyin' Hot 97 n***a gon' play us some new sh**, or we gon' start ridin' Me and Blaze up that spot, you know who we are High profile, we not buyin' the bar, real grimey One E & J, one Philly, and jake behind me... BX [Hook] - X 1.5 New York belongs to me! (Not him, or yooouuuu) New York belongs to me! (Not him, or yooouuuu) [Kool Keith] I'mma tell you New Yorkers on lock down, the city is my boo You shoulda called up Clue and made appointments I'm qualified in the Metropolitan area I shoulda been on the professional too None of y'all rappers don't have a rule Marketing plan out there, y'all know what to do What up nizza?, with tight beats on destinctive tracks like the RZA On four DAT's, computer sequence my formats I step on MC's like subways, rest my feet on rats 8,000 rappers comin' out this summer posin' hard, rhymin' like p**ycats Y'all don't shoot nobody, half of y'all like to scratch - Like kittens in a batch, most of y'all scared to light a match Blow birthday candles, y'all dealin' with girls with love handles Better yet, guys still standin' in front of Fat Beats lookin' for samples I laught at you holdin' champagne tryin' to walk in the club like Rambo [Hook] - X 2 New York belongs to me! (Not him, or yooouuuu) New York belongs to me! (Not him, or yooouuuu)