Lyrics:
the car lot, got a new toy (skrrt)
I got a backpack full of blue boys (stacks)
On the way to Eliantte in New York (ice)
Man, I got a trunk full of blue
Don't talk tough talker unless you walk the walk
We grimy, we dirty in New York, New York
Blood spill around here and don't care about court
You take
it)
I get money, money is got (Yeah yeah)
Money I got, money is got (I run New York!)
I take quarter water sold it in bottles for 2 bucks,
The jesus christ on my neck reach to my lap
I teach you to rap in my sunday school
These bitches get a one day rule
You gotta fuck by monday, cool?
Or she
the wolves are comes (yo Banks, lemme-lemme shine)
I got Timberwolves in Minnesota
And got them New York Knicks up in that baking soda
Homie, I cross over
"Look, I'll call you in the morning
Or my service will explain"
And another hundred people just got off of the train
I didn't come right to New York
nigga (haha, haha)
You gotta love it, New York City (haha)
[ Chorus - 50 Cent singing ]
I been doin' my own thang
You can tell by the stones on my neck,
I like my bitches picky
But I can't let these bitches trick me
Seen a opp and he ran like Ricky
Cooling out in New York feel like 50
She fuck with
it got to get it the world and whats in it
And you can get it you can get it in a new york minute
I got to get it got to get it
[Verse Banks]
Rap gone
a motherfuckin' gangster
I got fifty racks right now (right now, right now)
A couple killers in the back right left
New Double R, grippin' my banger
Countin' up
(Great John on the beat by the way)
I was on tour for four months we was overseas (Greenlight Gang)
Did fifty-five shows in forty-five countries (woah)
shit
To the (?)
50 dollar, hundred dollar bill shit
(?) gold crown on a real nigga wrist
Fresh like my nephew Khalil in this bitch
.40 cal, no
When I’m in Miami when I’m in Atlanta
The radio sound like I’m in Miami
When I’m in New York
The radio sound like I’m in Miami
So you feel like now,
where i sleep, now give me my key
[Verse 8: N.O.R.E.]
New York get the blood money, dirty cash still sweet
We will blackwall street by the swapmeet with
that night New York felt
Niggas boo'd Cam'ron for a minute then caught theyselves
Like hold up, put some respect on my nigga name (Killa)
It was dope
and you can't tell her shit
It's crazy I know the work that she put in
Another one went to Kent for fashion
He moved to New York to go make it happen
I
gotta love it, New York City (haha)
I been doin' my own thang
You can tell by the stones on
My neck, and my wrist, and my ears
I'm doin' my thang (haha)
in a bodybag
21 with a switch on it call it chris johnson new york jets
Why the fuck you call it that that switch make that bitch shoot out facts
When
to maintain the imbalance.
Natives are slaughtered in their homelands
By governments seeking out new possessions.
Most of the wealth of the so called
impress niggaz who speak to God
We get jams to make a tuna melt
Held down by the BEP, we strictly, new getty
Two-fifty up in front of the mic, so what it
Okay, New York, New York
Skepta, Jme (Boy Better Know)
This is grime scene
Hold tight my mum still, big up mum
Yeah, listen
I want a 100% not fifty
Oh, Oh, Oh gGGG G-Unit
Yeah it's 50 Cent
And Lloyd Banks and Tony Yayo
Nigga (ha, ha) you got to love it
New York City
I've been doing my own thing
After the war I went back to New York
A-After the war I went back to New York
I finished up my studies and I practiced law
I practiced law, Burr
(whoa, four rings)
If you're not first, you're in last (last)
Champions don't come in second (nope)
I shoot my shot like I'm Stephen (swish)
Shoutout
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