exile from the homeland
shit i feel like its x files or im brody from homeland
o man
a bad omen of things to come
how many kings u think get crushed when kingdom come?
so i shit on the whole industry
get blown like drone strike
plutonium low density
stoned like yosemite
im so high
its heavenly
foresight
ill be rockin
all night
infinity

gettin money like a motherfucker
money like a mother
with a son nd a daughter nd a father that said fuck em
as she shuffle thru money
some of it funny as fuck
she said u better tell nobody
hushin her son with a look
look

look at the kid
lost in sitcoms
as moms nd pops arguin
the audience applaud
cus pops didnt get a job
depressed
dressed like a slob
swingin with these bitches like it's professional golf

stressed?
no never
especially with a cigarette lit
nevertheless
restless unless i let go of breath
let it echo thru time
nd when u remember it
let the instrumental rewind
I said
play the bar hard like roman greco design
whether carharts or rugged vintage leather embalmed
to weather the storm when its bombs over n y
all of us get high
all jus to get by
qu

scribe the verbalist (scratched in)/
if home is where the heart is, good thing mine is made of stone
x3

snoop/
new york, new york, big city of dreams
but everything in new york ain't always what it

queens is the backdrop
manhattan my backyard
brooklyn nd the bronx to the side of me
yall should back off
blast off the boros
nd the world is my last stop
get hurled thru galaxies
as i hurl up my last lung
relaxed in the jeep passenger seat
passin the weed
after meetin my mans nd em after a shift
the cipher complete
nike fleet for my feet
im flea
for a korean
leisurely careenin thru city scenery
weeded off tree top
even on enemy blocks
steam like saunas
u could let the nypd watch
meanwhile
im a good dude
two jobs
the dude yall look to to move yall
a new god
an idiot with idiosyncracies
idioms
the kid is new york city
like diddy nd u god
heh
on a stoop on jupiter
booted as fuck
lucy lit up
the polluted tongue of the budah
im from
new york

scribe the verbalist (scratched in)/
if home is where the heart is, good thing mine is made of stone
x3

nas/
nothing's equivalent to the New York state of mind