Ty Hickson - Z% York lyrics

(Sample) "This is the place where stars are born ( I took raps & then convert it into a hip hop form) Mad n***as think about taking mines, I stay in murder scandals, & dust the finger prints off Burning handles" (Verse 1) It goes, Lifestyles of the rich & poor Where young n***as a slit ya jaws Then clip you off if you pop Chris or Pour(Paul) You pitching raw? Better set up at a distant store Them hammers ah pop n***as drop because of distinct flaws Cops catching cases, b**hes going through phases sh** been going for ages, but we seek revelation Family members erasing, you can try to yellow page ‘em Get a n***a weed & lace ‘em, sh** routine don't phase ‘em Under pressure trail dating, judges violate And annihilating that sense of prosperity on guys faces We invest in crime ratings, life expectancy low as clock patients Time waits for no man, y'all n***as ah die pacing I'm from New York and never liked the Knicks I'm on some type of sh**, if a b**h have aids, then I'ma wife the b**h ‘Cus I'm one who likes to chase d**h Y'all scary, f** an aids test Your style is so dead, I need to take breath's (Verse 2) We get erratic when it comes to static And our hands are automatic, so act crazy we'll let ya mother have it A ba*tard child, never act this wild A menstrual couldn't cramp our style And I'ma pa** it down to my ba*tard child We running from no man, better get the program With a strength like Conan's, flood The corner slinging that Lindsey Lohan You wonder like cult jam, how this youngin' flowing like old Cam I'm f**ing hoes fam, ya girl ah tell you but her throat jammed And guess what's in it, my windows tinted, and plus the whip is rented We don't care ya relation you better mind ya business In the projects, sitting and reminiscing about that pot to piss in From the rust to the copper so we made bra** decisions Give ‘em our a** to kiss, and n***as don't think we better with bad decisions, reloaded the mag then lift… (Bridge: Moe) Nah nah nah nah, yo Phil f** that! Man talk about ya life man, f** that! (Verse 3) Ayo,I got swag you can't copy slick On the Eastside of Harlem, better known as h-e double hockey sticks A born vet, so y'all all pet, and more stressed I go to war Margielas on, a worn vest with the Gortex Aiming at rappers, bringing them all d**h Just leaving the morgue left n***as don't know, I'm fouler then four techs And double down, while y'all fumble rounds Think y'all rappers hungry Well my gut be full and still make jungle sounds Think ya rappers on a run; well I'm here to slow you down Elaborated ya fabrications with all them funny sounds Infatuated with what I'm saying, don't have to dumb it down I rep my town, they're glad I made it so n***as hold me down Got fronted-a-pound, had them dusty n***as pitching Running it down, I flooded the mound Now I'm clocking hits, and I'm controlling the crown I'm Always sober, ‘laxed in the rover My time ain't slowing down Dames dashing just to come over This that new Hova sound