Reuben Wilson - Memory Lane (Sittin' in Da Park) lyrics

[Produced by DJ Premier] [Intro] Aight, f** that sh**! Word, word f** that other sh**, y'know what I'm sayin'? We gonna do a lil somethin' like this Y'know what I'm sayin'? (Y'all doing that other sh**) Keep it on and on and on and on and Know'm sayin'? Big Nas, Grand Wizard, what is it? (It's like…) Haha,you know what I'm sayin'? Yo, go ahead and rip that sh**, dun! [Verse 1] I rap for listeners, bluntheads, fly ladies, and prisoners Henessey-holders and old-school n***as Then I be dissing a unofficial that smoke Woolie Thai I dropped out of Cooley High Ga**ed up by a cokehead cutie pie Jungle survivor, f** who's the live-er My man put the battery in my back A difference from Energizer Sentence begins indented with formality My duration's infinite, moneywise or physiology Poetry, that's a part of me, retardedly bop I drop the ancient manifested hip-hop straight off the block I reminisce on park jams My man was shot for his sheep coat Chocolate incense make me see him drop in my weed smoke It's real, grew up in trife life, did times or white lines The hype pipes, murderous nighttimes And knife fights and blight crimes Chill on the block with Cognac, hold strap With my peeps that's into drug money market into rap No sign of the beast in the blue Chrysler I guess that means peace For n***as, no sheisty vice to just snipe ya Start off the dice-rolling mats for craps to cee-lo With side-bets, I roll a deuce, nothing below (Peace God!) Peace God – now the sh** is explained I'm taking n***as on a trip straight through memory lane It's like that y'all… [Hook] "Now let me take a trip down memory lane" "Coming outta Queensbridge" [Verse 2] One for the money, two for p**y and foreign cars Three for Alizé, n***as deceased or behind bars I rap divine, God; check the prognosis: is it real or showbiz? My window faces shootouts, drug overdoses Live amongst no roses, only the drama For real, a nickel-plate is my fate, my medicine is the ganja Here's my basis, my razor embraces, many faces You're telephone blown, black, stitches or fat shoelaces Peoples are petro, dramatic automatic .44 I let blow And back down po-po when I'm vexed so My pen taps the paper then my brain's blank I see dark streets, hustlin' brothers who keep the same rank Pumpin' for somethin', some'll prosper, some fail Judges hanging n***as, uncorrect bails for direct sales My intellect prevails from a hanging cross with nails I reinforce the frail, with lyrics that's real Word to Christ, a disciple of streets, trifle on beats I decipher prophecies through a mic and say "Peace." I hung around the older crews While they sling smack to dingbats They spoke of Fat Cat; that n***a's name made bell rings, black Some fiends scream, about Supreme Team A Jamaica Queens thing Uptown was Alpo, son, heard he was kingpin Yo, f** "rap is real", watch the herbs stand still Never talking to snakes, ‘cause the words of man k** True in the game, as long as blood is blue in my veins I pour my Heineken brew to my deceased crew on memory lane [Hook] "Now let me take a trip down memory lane" "Coming outta Queensbridge" "Now let me take a trip down memory lane" "Coming outta Queensbridge" [Outro: DJ Premier scracthing] "Coming out of Queensbridge" (X4) "The most dangerous MC is…" "Coming out of Queensbridge" "The most dangerous MC is…" "Coming out of Queensbridge" "The most dangerous MC is…" "Coming out of Queensbridge" "The most dangerous MC is…" "You're number one and y'know where you're from"