Luyện nghe bài hát N.Y. State Of Mind Pt. II

Broken glass in the hallway, floors
Neighbors, at every bag you bring through your doors
the top lock, momma shoulda cuffed me to the radiator
Why not? It might've saved later my block
N.Y. cops, hookers off the stroll, coughin
Stitches in they head, stinkin and I dread thinkin they be
But who else, could it be, shook at these, unmarked
Parked in the dark, NARC's, where's heart?
starve, they bust a U-ey, I jog
To my building, come out wearin camouflage
See the and the captain, strangle men
Niggas gaspin for air, til move no more and just stare
With dead eyes, tired of riots, shit is
Simple-minded fools infiltrate crews
Overcrowded cribs, uncles home from bids, sister's
Father's on drugs, moms is smokin, is piss-infested
Had eight partners growin up, eight turned to
turned to six niggas, got two in heaven
Six of us, holdin it, now it's rollin thick
The sixth one's parole flipped, niggas, went to four quick
When he went O.T., college life, into gangbangin
Four niggas still hangin, years and slang changin
Three of us now, fourth nigga around
We all he was real, he did the snake shit
Fake shit, beat his ass down, yo his
got us all wasted, what a fuckin clown
All I got left in the end is two of my best
And we all goin out, to the death for these ends,

New York, New (New York state of mind)

You heard it, you see about it
You read about it, it's in your
It's in your daily ("Get money!")
New chronicles, every day
The crime rate, the rate
The money rate, the paper chase, you know I mean?
New York state of mind baby, it out

I'm at the, gamblin spot, my hands on a
New York cap cover my eyes, stand in one spot
I take a nigga dough, send him home to a
You lost that I put your dollar in the jukebox
Hear my favorite song, all these niggas sing
All the cigarette smoke's cloggin my lungs, hoodrats flashin tongue
Young blastin they gun, we got reputations
Bitches and both on parole or probation
is sick, niggas got gats, army fatigues
I got my eyes glued on, whoever in or leave
Cause I ain't playin, niggas'll run up in here and up this shit
Stick yo' ass up, niggas'll find the loot in kicks
Bunch of triple-cross niggas, New York niggas
Lift you off your feet when they was just with you
Some of these dudes the Feds be on em, you em for years
Be the type when you walk in a pub, they offer you
That ain't gangsta, is up North with tatted tears
name's on the affadavit, you ratted kid
Faggot-ass niggas that be to do they bids
Fuck you, we run you out of N.Y, you live
Got your quiet niggas, that down South
back to floss, then you got the jealous loudmouths
All of a we got Crips and Bloods, D.T.'s
Runnin round quick to your mug, it's ea-sy to score
But it's hard to get the off
fightin over hundred sales, jump in the car and drive off
When the fiend around the block, happy as hell
Niggas, mad cause they get a piece of that sale
Cutthroat connivers, universal, survivors
Go to any that's live and make it liver
A lot of scheamin, some real, some niggas frontin
But I'm a big dreamer, so watch me come up with

New York, New
New York, New