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Actions have reactions, don’t be quick to judge,
You may not know the hardships people don’t speak of.
It’s best to step back, and observe with couth,
For we all must meet our Moment of Truth.
My sense of self and my mental health
Is much more powerful than any hint of wealth.
New York, New York is where we live and we’re thorough,
Never taking shorts, ‘cause Brooklyn’s the borough.
Peace to Uptown, to Queens and The Bronx,
Long Island and Jersey get as fly as they want.
But I must tell you, where we rest is no joke…
So let me break it down to sections for you slow pokes:
Fort Greene, Bed-Stuy, Flatbush, Brownsville,
Crown Heights and East New York will be down till,
Medina takes respect for the styles we bring,
‘Cause in Brooklyn we be into our own thing.
Telling my business to kids I don’t even know,
You’re like a daytime talk show…and that’s low.
Fake MC’s – they always act hard
But won’t walk the streets without their bodyguards.
There oughta be laws against you yappin’ your jaws.
Lemonade was a popular drink and it still is;
I get more props and stunts than Bruce Willis.
According to Guru (RIP): “Streetwise poetry and turntable wizardry.”- from “Flip the Script,” off of Gang Starr’s Daily Operation, 1992
They say it’s lonely at the top, in whatever you do,
You always gotta watch motherfuckers around you.
Nobody’s invincible, no plan is foolproof,
We all must meet our Moment of Truth.
Now I got my new girl, or as I say my baby doll,
But I’m still gettin’ crazy calls, my ex-girl’s got balls…
But some find happiness while others find sorrow,
And what’s here today, may be gone tomorrow.
Squeeze the juice out,
Of all the suckers with power.
And pour some back out,
So as to water the flowers.
This world is ours.
You know, I used to be a player…flygirl-layer and a heartbreaker,
Lovemaker, backbreaker, but then I made a mistake.
Yes, I fell in love with this ill chick,
Sweatin’ me for money, my name and the dilsnick.
My homeboys told me drop her cause it would be to my benefit;
She used to say I’d better quit hanging with those derelicts.
Lyrically def and connecting, complete mic-wrecking…
No double-checking, vocals kill like weapons.
It’s the message in the song that makes you rock on,
Some people go to places where they don’t belong.
Whether wrong or right, a lot of people fight,
But I’m here to bless this mic, aight?
I’ll never understand why a wack rapper tries and
Convinces himself that his image is so fly and
That’s the type of crap you know I’m not buying…
Chumps lack the beats and their rhymes don’t apply.
Brooklyn: the home of the black and the beautiful.
For a rough rap sound, ain’t a place more suitable.
I’ve been layin’, waiting for your next mistake,
I put in work, and watch my status escalate.
A lot of rappers be like one time wonders,
Couldn’t say a fly rhyme if there was one right under their noses…
I hate those motherfuckin posers.
The mind is a terrible thing to waste.
I show love cause it’s a terrible thing to hate.