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

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

New York, New York (New York of mind)

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

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

New York, New
New York, New