You see Generation X, meet Generation Debt/onto us all the of the burdens were left, oh!/they threw dirt on my doorstep, I can’t be held accountable for your mess, no/now I gotta clean it up, tell the sanitation company to bring more trucks nigga/ bring a couple more masks, couple more Glad bags and a couple more gloves/ as I combat trash and pollution in my city like a Go Green ad/this is Pentagon, Harlem Rennaisance rap, before the Regan era government flooded it with crack/ yeah they spit crack, but I spit like what you manufacture at a meth lab, take about ten slabs, you could “Throw It In The Bag”, you could tell the homey Fab that Poe got it covered as I ragtag, body and toe-tag these motherfuckas/I hate rap you can C. Delores Tucker, in my features, I don’t want a feature, I don’t want you on my songs, him, her neither/fall in line and accept the “Takeover” or expect being “Ethered”/either you gonna what I’m kicking like FIFA or turn down the volume to your speakers/I am like a beacon, light of the end of the tunnel, salvation in which they all speak of/follow me, to the milk and honey like Moses out of Egypt, I sleep in the same sarcophagus as King Tut/you can’t touch what kings touch, my scent is Frankincense and myrrh I smells like Jesus Christ, chuch/do you smell me, a lot of press lately call me Chelsea, grammar like Kelsey, my cousin said he felt me more on Exhibit A than B cause A was straight heat and B was too deep like the thoughts of Dostoyevsky and Friedrich Nietzsche, Poe wait a minute…/damn, there you go getting deep again, got these daredevils even thinking that they seeing him/they got the audacity to actually speak upon my name so casually, mere mention is blasphemy/no fair warnings, presidential pardons, no one gets spared, I declare no amnesty/a star is born every single day but a star dies every few hours/the disenchantment from the fall from the towers of grace is way faster than a man’s rise to power, step outta your comfort zone I know the expectations are low but not in regards to Poe fuckas!

Are there any further questions? Are there any further comments? You got any suggestions? Alright let’s start the press conference! (Verse I - Poe Picasso) As I represent hip-hop and stand before New York’s Rock Steady Crews and disc jocks/I will not stand for anything other than grandeur, holding it down like anchors/carry the weight of my city until my hands sore, schooling you children like chancellors/the revolution won’t be televised turn your cams off, wars going on outside, it’s not a stand off/I’m front lining like vanguard, the forefront, avant-garde, ready to die for what I stand for/ I stand for New York City, headed straight to the top bringing Brooklyn with me… (Hook) Ya’ll appointed me to bring rap justice but I ain’t 5-0, ya’ll know it’s Poe!/ya’ll appointed me to bring rap closure, it’s Brooklyn’s own Kris Kasanova… (Verse II) The first order of business, I no longer follow your means of conducting business/hold your suggestions, I don’t even value your opinion, if you ain’t a mogul I don’t want to hear it/I don’t need your damn advice nor your consultation, if your methods so effective why your methods never made it?/music’s in a funny place they all got something to say, consumers in an uproar, Tammi Terrell and Marvin Gaye, tell me please “What’s Going On”, where did everything go wrong/who do we place the blame on the artists or Viacom, or is it the internet and the spiders who weave the web, file sharing and piracy found no means to contain it yet/mold you up to build you up, build you up to break you down, one mistake you blackballed, prime example: Chris Brown/Chris I still fuck’s with you, I support Rihanna too, we all black, I won’t make a monster out of none of you/tell me where the leaders at, ain’t nobody stepping up, all the so called real niggas all abandoned us/we ain’t got no power players go ahead and check the Forbes, purposefully they left us out, blacks are unaccounted for/competition breeds success, capitalism at its core, kinda like a love story, big shout out to Michael Moore/and I stand for New York City and on everything I love I’m bringing Brooklyn with me… (Hook) (Verse III - Kris Kasanova) BK’s native, they sayin’ I’m their favorite, feeling like the greatest thank God that I made it/finger to them haters, apologetic, just save it, matter of fact, you can kiss the motherfuckin’ pavement/follow the leader, the top is where I lead ya, you skin fade niggas got me feeling so Caesar/press conference, press this up on your conscience, hold you comments, your non-sense makes me vomit/is this to whom ya’ll place ya’ll faith in? I ain’t even hating I’m just patiently waiting for my fuckin’ crown this is mine for the taking/statements I’m making for the state that I stay in, stimulus packs with stupendous of raps, blue Yank fitted with the brim to the back and I represent New York City, birthplace of Biggie bringing Brooklyn with me… (Hook)

(Verse I) I put my life into my compositions, all competition ceases to exist at the flick of my wrist/I’m ambidextrous, southpaw but right on my wit, one hand washes the other it’s a mutual split/I take it far to the left but right with a hit, just when you thought that I left, I’m right on my shit, feel me/I’m unorthodox, Roy Jones in a chicken coup, ya’ll niggas must of forgot I won’t conform like Hassidic Jews/slow it down, riding dirty on that chopped and screwed, shout out to Bun B, rest in peace to homey Screw and Pimp C too/ya’ll niggas ain’t forgotten, pour your Promethazine, crush up your Oxycotin/you know I always show respect and I made my own lane but still validate your steps/cause I’m from the city of the greatest where the b-boys break on cardboard like Dirty Vegas, come on... (Hook) I see you rapping but I don’t hear you saying much/I see you rapping but I don’t hear you saying much/I grind for it cause I don’t think I’ve made enough, feel me... (Verse II) The backdrop for these cinematic rhyme schemes, golden era, New York, Brooklyn, 1993/my son grew up with me, moved to ATL like Albert Daniels as Brooklyn when he played in ATL/we spoke briefly, he asked me how the city was, who got killed, which rapper’s generating the biggest buzz/initial thought was tell him I was coming up, how I did Shade 4-5 and I tore it up/but that ain’t enough to put in conversation, so I told him who died and avoided anything rap-related/he read my body language even through the phone and asked me how I was doing, was music coming along.../I said, “Slowly, but surely, you know how the game goes, still grinding trying to find the end to the rainbow.”/I felt bewildered, knowing he expected more, he responded reassuringly, “I know you poppin’ off. I know you heard the Exhibit’s with Just and Jay Elec and you tight you did it first but ain’t getting exposure yet. My nigga don’t fret, God gotta plan and when it’s ready to be bestowed it’ll fall into your hands, trust me!” (Hook) (Verse III) Too many rappers, not enough people in NASA to forecast any natural disasters/dog, why you gassin’ him talent is self-service, always been a cocky nigga but never self-serving/catch swerving in something bumpin’ R U Still Down, can you niggas feel me I ain’t motherfuckin’ Dru Down/peace to Oakland though and all my girls at Roscoe’s with opened toes, who let the top back on the open road/Young Dro burning slow, existential Poe moving it live from The Truman Show/nothing is real in Pleasantville, a day in the life, complicated, see it ain’t that black and white/you see I’m public property these rap guys are making a mockery of this art that came from the heart, that came from the parks, that came from the Bronx, that came from New York/an ill nigga, real nigga, play ya part nigga... (Hook)

A millisecond two turning into seconds, then turning into minutes, then turning into hours/wash away her sins like John the Baptist and Catholics, soap foams down into the shower/in another half and hour, her thoughts gather like rain storms, her black parade just got rained on/Balenciaga shades, like night Ramada stays, trying to wash away all the clients she laid on/from drug dealers who be getting their slang on, to Wall Street niggas with their stock and exchange on, to open married couples who be getting their swing on/been in more sheets than Flanigan, Raymour, work ethic like a porn star/ain’t seasonal or temp but her services are on call/so high on that Methadone, if it’s left alone, it’s Geronimo, feeling like a free fall/her posture on that Posturepedic had politicians stepping down from their seat and had pastors in confessionals weeping/stand up guys caught pants down cheating/indecent indeed, even early Earnhardt couldn’t move at her speed/she’s gone in 60 seconds like Jolie/coldly, reapply appliance, pull her dress down slowly/back-to-back rings like Kobe Bryant, on the wedding fingers of clients, walk into the room hear the desolate silence, her room keys rattling unzipping the flyers/eyes seen hate, mouth spews waste and a tongue so numb it eludes all tastes/some have fun constantly for role play, while others have fetishes they want to portray/she’s been to the ultimate lows being pimped like Hustle and Flow and Taraji would know/it’s kinda like Biggie and Hov, gotta “Whoop That Trick” for the “Love of the Dough”, oh!/and she’s been on the receiving end of many a shakedowns, beatdowns and backhands/a few of them even tried to rape her, Mad Men, Donald Francis Draper/another day, another man escapes her, walking out her life, so quick to degrade her/degrade and deface her, throwing dirt on her name like mother nature she is in danger/and she wants to fly away like Amelia Earhart, but doesn’t fit the criteria, therefore she’s a harlot, stuck in the web, Charlotte…

(Verse I) New York’s only modern day Langston Hughes, words vivid no shades and hues/hold up, I gotta shade my views because I couldn’t shed light like afternoons/”It’s hard to swallow the truth with a belly full of lies”, my man Flu said it first, I’m borrowing the line, water into wine/niggas wanna emulate my grind, draw conclusions but can’t stay in the lines/I’m Danny Glover try and Color Me Purple, my city bears trees and the soil is fertile, coming from where I’m from, we all barked up on the same beanstalk like fee fi fo fum/we wasn’t dumb we was desperate, I put my “Life On The Line” I was Curtis for that necklace, so Before I Self Destruct, I tell these kids coming up none of this was luck, no/what you viewing as an overnight success, the back end work took ten years at best/easily impressed, opinionated bloggers and biasedly written comments morely focused how you dressed but…see with me there’s more involved, I want to make ‘em all proud like silk gowns and mortar boards/no metaphors, slowed it down and put it in laymen’s terms just for me to get my point across (Verse II) New York’s only modern day Cassius, the jabs land, the trembling hand’s accurate/I can’t lose, my future was predicted by an old witch doctor in the Bayou/”Window Seat” no Badu, on a first class flight life from a bird’s eye view/I went from Jet Blue to private flights with Middle Eastern jet fuel, god damnit I’m so crude/rude boy like Mad Max, top shotta, Patois accents, “You not know who you deal with, me bad man by blood”, no relation, realness/my Caribbean niggas feel this and my Haitians back home who didn’t make it you’re still missed/my momma told me, I was born holy, I ain’t choose to rhyme, rhyming chose me/it’s getting “Ugly” like Bubba in the pig sty, when the last time you seen NY this fly?/and I ain’t talking bout clothes, I seldomly ever use the braggadocios flows/no time to boast, I’m busy trying to clean up a coast, I feel my city here needs it the most/I am the magistrate, new face of this rap game, giving classic pieces of art word to my last name/P-I-C-A-double S-O, flow is just so Vincent Van Gogh, recognize a real king when you see one, no crown, no throne, Jesus ain’t need one, Poe!

I crush weed on novels written by Donald Goines, perfectly rolled my eyes low, I stays on point/I always smoke, I need the relief, like my family out in Haiti, dying on the daily, I read it in the Times now it’s hardly in the Daily/Lord can you save me? I’m having dreams that the devil’s taunting me in my sleep, what should I do?/I heard you gotta sell your soul to get a coupe and to be rich you gotta join a group, talk to me/who can I run to when I need to escape, when the pressure gets too much for me take/I can’t bear it, I swear if this is the curse that comes with the gift, I’ll give it back this very instant, perhaps for instance/now if I die tomorrow how will they mourn, crying in the dusk but forgotten by the dawn/Chapter 18, Verse 3, read it every single day that’s a powerful psalm/the Lord is my rock, fuck the government and fuck the cops, you compare me to who?/not to none of these niggas, they get a buzz then they start comparing themselves to Jigga, it’s outlandish/in memory of the late great Francis, I carry on tradition, brand new Commission/more ammunition, more guns and more women, more work to break down, long division, no revision/my cousin moves chickens, ya’ll animated like the Fu-Schnikens/I don’t listen to rap minus Nipsey Hussle and a couple of cats, no additional name dropping I’ll just leave it at that/look, I think miltant, they’d rather keep my niggas preoccupied on that Twitter shit, not me/my personal thoughts belong in my head, won’t divulge the grand plan on the worldwide web, feel me?/they won’t allow me to tell you the truth, so this here’s for promotional use/they won’t allow me to sell you the truth, so this here’s for promotional use/ they won’t allow me to give you the truth, so this here’s for promotional use/they won’t allow me to tell you the truth, so this here’s for promotional use/ they won’t allow me to tell you the rest, but I had to get this off of my chest, you see me stressed right?

Mic check 1-2, 1-2, they shook, halfway crooks, the Brook coming thru/and the rumors weren’t true, I know rap here been slackin’ as of late, I apologize for them now lets set the record straight/attention, all corny rappers about face, find the nearest exit, Flex would drop a bomb in a second if you niggas were halfway impressive/its like Clinton leaving office on a high note, then Bush took it now look at what we left with/that’s how I feel about this, New York rap or the New York Knicks/I juxtapose the cons and the pros, everything is trash at an all time low/I suppose nothing good last forever, but I beg to differ this nigga keep getting better/each letter tells tales of the next, your choreographed raps can’t follow my steps/your style is rehearsed, I switch of styles every verse, you should worry it’s only getting worse/feel me, you wish you could, niggas sound like Eddie Murphy saying “that boy good!”/rose petals thrown at the bottom of my soles, you walking with a king, you peasants should of known/the worst thing to do is get me in a zone, cuz I black out, eyelids after they’re closed/ good night, long kiss, new New York, not 1996/I gave you classics back-to-back like Sir Lucious Left Foot and 3 Stacks in the Cadillac/Exhibit A was raw and uncut, Exhibit B came and I stepped it all up/ya’ll niggas talk about nothing, I know Big rolling in his grave disgusted/is this what he died for? along with Pun and L, for them I roll L’s, let the liquor pour on marble floors, farewell/send my condolence, preparing for the future while I’m living in the moment/looking for a loophole in the game to sell records like Josh Groban, I need a feature with Justin Bieber let’s get dog/niggas step up to the plate, what you hitting for? I need more and whatever supersedes it, the difference from me and you, you wants it, I needs it/fuck the games, I’m MIA for them “Paper Planes”, New York motherfuckin’ City, respect the name/ fuck the games, I’m MIA for them “Paper Planes”, New York motherfuckin’ City, respect the name!

I need to see a whole lotta dough, I need to see a whole lotta cash/I need to see a whole lotta dough, I need to see a whole lotta cash/in my lifetime, I need a whole lotta dough, I need a whole lotta cash/in my lifetime, I need a whole lotta dough, I need a whole lotta cash/in my lifetime, I need a whole lotta dough, I need a whole lotta cash/in my lifetime, I need a whole lotta dough, I need a whole lotta cash/so tired of waiting, so tired of waiting, so tired of waiting/I need a whole lotta dough, I need a whole lotta cash/so tired of waiting, so tired of waiting, so tired of waiting/I need a whole lotta dough, I need a whole lotta cash... Sobbing as I bellow, cursing the heavens like “Why we gotta peddle?”/my niggas on the treadmill, it’s like we losing weight but we moving in place/but we still pedal on, Tour De France, Lance Armstrong on a vicious cycle, so trifle/they don’t like you when your skin is filled with melanin in a corporate environment and you’re equally intelligent/fuck dwelling if the work is moving and product is selling, sell it, who am I to pass judgment?/my attitude is fuck it, the same niggas perpetuating negative stigmas are my niggas I grew up with/so what then? I can’t shun them, cuz at one particular point I was them, looking back when rap music was hardly grossing, up until Russell and Rubin pried the doors open/now it’s imploding, like the Towers did, back to that same Earth, that founded it/this ain’t how I want to live, I had dreams of being fulfilled and maybe I can have a kid/but life never plays the way you intend it, I used to love H.E.R. now I hate the woman I wanted to have it with/a thug changes, love changes and best friends become strangers, word up/that bar was borrowed from Escobar, drugs, money, pussy and power steering expensive cars/.45 in the crease of my drawers, interlude, in my lifetime, truly yours, p-pause… In my lifetime, I need a whole lotta dough, I need a whole lotta cash/in my lifetime, I need a whole lotta dough, I need a whole lotta cash...

(Verse I) You see success is a requisite, failure ain’t an option on the ropes I’m Ali when him and Foreman were boxing/no referees to the fans they coulda seen that these verse that I sewn, seam so effortlessly/true indeed I coulda fooled a blind eye, what if I told that this verse was rewritten a thousand times, fuckin’ peons/you eons away from my shine, bringing a spark like Rodimus Prime, not Optimus, I’m opted to optimize and ostracize predictable lines/I’m transforming, I can transform ya, been a transformer way before Chris Brown had a warrant or Swizz Beatz was divorcin’/it’s boring standing in a room full of bitches like an occultic driven Morman/lack of performance and ‘Ye said it’s appalling, Wayne and Jay got New Orleans and Jay got New York, but when is Jay really touring?/yeah the question is rhetoric, but the feeling’s so euphoric, you gotta love it… (Verse II) Forget that wack shit, they want that “Pakinamac” in the back of the Ac or that Southernplayacadillac shit/they want that Afrika Bambaataa, Clive Campbell, Sedgwick Ave., turntable, Melle, Grandmaster Flash shit/no yappin’ they want real rapping and a brand new outfit but I’m so old fashioned/time to bring back that mattress, Radio Raheem, boom box, Beat Street, graffiti taggin’/forget that wack shit, they want that “Pakinamac” in the back of the Ac or that Southernplayacadillac shit/they want that Afrika Bambaataa, Clive Campbell, Sedgwick Ave., turntable, Melle, Grandmaster Flash shit/no yappin’ they want real rapping and a brand new outfit but I’m so old fashioned/I’mma bring back that mattress, Radio Raheem, boom box, Beat Street, graffiti taggin’/New York City… (Verse III) And I’m reppin’ for my town, from the penthouse settlements down to the gentrified, tattered down, Bedstuy sub-standard residence/the bar been raised I’m setting the new precedent/I’m the only one here still relevant, street and intelligent/catch me at a charity event fundraising, not even for the benefits, I’m working in my city I should be the borough president/Brooknam, sippin’ on… rosé’s forever, I play the crib when it’s knit weather/the Ralph Lauren ’94 wool stitch sweater/or the Coogi under the collar button down leather, BKNY, I do it for them four letters/usually seen in a Benzo with tinted windows, laughing, blasting Nas Stillmatic intro, “blood of a slave, heart of a king”/it’s alarmin’ ya, Versace frames covering my corneas, I’m warning ya/I’m warning ya, I’m not one to be fucked with, I’m a real rhymer, ya’ll just some over dramatized motion flick hip-hop version of Bruckheimer/Jerry that is, I’ll bury you kids, like it’s Children of the Corn, I Pet Cemetery dogs, letting off artillery with military force, fuck shooting strip ‘em naked, cover ‘em in tar, then feather ‘em and parade ‘em down the steps of City Hall/that’s the ultimate punishment for being a fraud, it’s like New York went soft, Flex gotta spin this cause Enuff had enough with the garbage we submitting/my city’s seen different, you know we in a rut when Diddy, LA and Russ ain’t enthused for the business/labels going broke and all our venues are vacant, A&R’s pressing for talent losing their patience/every other region been dominating our stations cuz New York ain’t feeling what New York’s been making/this is revolution era, war against terror, war against America federations and all etceteras, no Farrakhan’s, I’m more like Che Guevara, John Lennon, Peter Tosh, Bob Marley, Trench Wailer, Goodfella, Russian mob, cartel, drug dealers, Super Bad, Greg Mattola, Jonah Hill, Mike Cera, no error, no typo’s with flows I’m Michael from the Bulls you Russell’s should know better, I’m that nigga…Poe!/shout out to Jay Electronica, fuck that, shout out to Jay Electronica the whole Magnolia/all wards New Orleans, peace Soulja Slim, we both did Exhibit’s great minds think alike then/shout out to Just Blaze, Fort Knocks and New Jeruz/student of the game, I give credit where credit’s due/hip-hop is a nation, breaking Jim Crow separation this is my closing statement…

(Verse I) Never gave me choices, nor gave me options, hearing voices just like Hailey Joel Osment, having visions like prophets/nobody ever gave me a handout or gave me critical advice or insight to steer me in the right route/I was all alone in my four-cornered room like Bushwick Bill a ghetto nigga in my aunt’s house/see a nigga needed paper, right now not later, I grew up like a motherfuckin’ screw up looking up to every hustler out doing it major/labels even turned him off, so called friends couldn’t cover no cost, industry niggas and record executives looked at my records as taking a loss/fuck it I kept on pushing, thought about my lifestyle living in Brooklyn, knowing I shouldn’t keep persisting, making it in music one in a trillion/bucket on the floor got a leak in the ceiling, tired of being broke tired of having that feeling/looking out the window raining dogs and kittens, gotta get my sister up outta that building/damn, that’s the way that it goes, empty ass fridge no food on the stove, tired of doing shows where nobody shows, out for the platinum not for the gold, took a detour on the yellow brick road, took a page out of Pyscho Drama and Bone’s flow so before I go, I’m from Brooklyn let’s let that be known… (Hook x2) Where you from, from, tell ‘em where you from/where you from, from, tell ‘em where you from/it don’t matter if you in or out of town you gon’ hold your city, hold your city, hold your city down… (Verse II) The dialogue and the epilogue of nigga coming out a city where the people are forgotten/the crack spot, melting pot, tree bears no fruit, every last apple here is rotten/watch it nobody ever really cares, losing their lives of the pettiest of stares, I can feel it in the air something ominous approaching overlooking detail when you shoulda been aware (the city’s scared)/everything is out of place, they’re slower to show love, they’re quicker to show hate/nobody can show face or stay in their own lane, or keep up their own weight or at their own pace/we moving in the Beemer cruzin’, Midwest ride Caddies, through backwoods of the hood of Kansas, Nebraska, Missouri and Michigan through to Cincinnati/see my city seems awkward, Departed like Martin Scorsese, movie credit scores is not Cleveland, Brooklyn land of the heartless/why the officers in uniform, so quick to release a whole clip, when a nigga pull a trigger, shoot a nigga, kill a nigga in broad daylight on the street on some bullshit/damn, that’s the way that it goes, this is for my niggas with the double-time flow, with the Midwest swang, with the choppas go bang and the Swisher burns sweet while you tippin’ on Vogues/all around the world niggas know me as Poe, BK to the fullest, for the love of the dough/and I’m on a mission to change the position of the critics who listen with an opinion of a nigga outta New York so… (Hook x2) (Verse III) We want change like Barack’s campaign, champagne over flowing, nigga it’s a celebration/new Chuck D if you wanna stop me or hold me back then it’s gonna take a Nation of Millions, fuck your feelings/people outta work we ain’t got no jobs, what you gonna do nigga steal or starve/life full of woe’s like a young Black Rob, everybody here got a hustle on the side, all black strap and an all black ride/seat recline and the music’s so loud you can hear the Biggie anytime you drive by/ten toes and ten fingers in the game, follow no rules, created my own lane/ain’t no thang but a fried chicken wing, when I get up in the business it’ll never be the same/I woke up one New York minute after the entire industry declared the Mecca of hip-hop was finished/you gotta be kidding, they destroyed it, I gotta rebuild it, but it back on in position, New York still tippin’, so…

(Verse I) Straight up shit is real and everyday can be your last in the jungle/the drama never cease, niggas murdered on the humble, on these metropolitan streets niggas be beefin’/guzzlin’ 40 ounces looking for purpose and reason, while some manage to exit, most of us ain’t ever leaving, we’re trapped below the heavens in the belly of the beast/it’s hell on earth, doing dirt, my momma works, shoot out with rival crews over distribution and turf/heard Lamar got merked shot in the head on the ave by a Jamaican yardie for coming short on his cash/nobody talkin’, yeah we seen it but don’t repeat it, I kept my statement blank when the questioned me at the precinct/I don’t know nothing, I ain’t bending and dropping names, good and bad cop like I’m not hip to the game/ain’t build a case, been harassing me ever since, never fold, never told, you know Poe represent… (Verse II) They call me Poe I ain’t your legal type of fella, bogus social securities I was fuckin’ the teller/so it’s all approved every transaction she put it through, told me to hit her up after work the same afternoon/then the phone rang, so I went and turned down the Biggie, answered it, it was the teller she asked me if I was busy/I said, “Not at the moment, I’m here having a Corona, watching highlights from the game when the Giants played Arizona, what’s up?”/she said, “Nothing, I was seeing what you were doing, I got out a little early my bosses met with the union, so I was just thinking if maybe I could come over, I got the money you gave me and wanted to bring it over”/”Cool, where you at, stay there, I’ll call you a cab”, gave the cab the location they’ll be there in a half/that gave me time to clean up and take a bath, hopped up out of the shower cleaned my feet up on the rag/threw on my jeans and then I threw on my sneakers, heard the intercom buzzing proceeded to press the speaker/heard her voice she was speaking in a rush, she said, “It’s cold baby, hurry let me up!”/I let her up and then I heard the bell ring, opened the door and what I saw was straight from Boomerang/a scene straight out a movie, it was exactly the same, when Angela met up Marcus and wasn’t wearing a thing/she came inside and put the money on the dresser and her panties and bra so I didn’t have to undress her/she started feeling on my chest, I started feeling on her breasts and Mr. Cheeks already said the rest/after some hours we chillin’ counting the dollars, she rollin’ up my smokes getting lifted for Benihana’s, we blazed a 50, I sat back and turned up the Biggie, she told me bout the jooks I can catch in Long Island City/a corporate girl with a hustler’s intent, bout her chips, that’s my bitch, so you know she represent…

(Verse I) I pull strings I’m Jimmy Page in his younger days, looking for heaven no direction to that stairway/where’s the airplay? no New York niggas on the airwaves, I tripled and bypassed like surgeries/it’s ok, we ain’t mad, we let ya’ll live, we’ll take it back, ya’ll had ya’ll fun, some even created a buzz and I commend you for an admirable run but.../now it’s time to take it back, the gig is up, the trend is wack, I’m picking up with Christopher left off before the shots were let off in the side of that 4-door/will they ever catch the killers? probably not, they say the Crips did it, me I say the LA cops/and NY cops and the FBI, so fuck ‘em all niggas hate to see a brother rise/and if my words get to Voletta, know your son lives we’ll never forget him/and I put that on every word that I scribe to transcribe this song, if you feeling it just nod on... (Verse II) Step aside I’m the man of the hour, I love my city, no Tiffany Pollard, New York thank me/“Heaven Sent” like the sister of Neffe and the biological daughter of Frankie, frankly, it’s my time now Hov’s getting old, no one else wants to claim it so the “City Is Mine” now/I know, I got ahead of myself, but I’m way more qualified than everyone else/you see I’m young and I’m fly and I sound like New York in it’s prime, nigga admit it I’m a hell of a guy/I Daily Show you losers how I do it, the Jon Stewart of music, far beyond joking and spoofing Judas/I know you see that classic Polo shit, this for my Lo-Lives collecting Polo knits/New York molded it, now I gotta crane, wrecking ball, bulldozer it, old ways we over it/corny rappers used to hide behind beats now they hide behind street wear and BBC/and if you feel that line’s directed at you, holla at me nigga do what it do...

(Verse I) I start raps with quotes from Machiavelli, “Necessity impales action”/wasn’t into tattin’ if I was I’d ink it on my belly/I’m sincere as Nas was in Belly, remembering gems that my elders used to tell me/they said, when somebody shows you themselves believe them, a light hearted joke may hold double meanings, women come and go they change like the seasons/there’s never one layer, there’s gravel under cement/so dig deeper, never follow, be a leader, Rakim Allah Hu Akbar to Medina/though the weight is heavy, I know God won’t forsake me, hold my gun steady, real calm, never shaky/though my heart is broken, won’t allow you to break me, rather die alone than love those who don’t embrace me/New York City made me cold as the arctic poles, frost-bitten, shaking and shivering with a runny nose/on this lonely road, it’s me, myself and I, dodging potholes playing De La Soul/the flows is king, content is still science, boys is out, squad cars there’s still sirens/the crimes the same black, it’s still black violence, the guns is aimed, all the shorties still firing/we oppressed, depressed and still crying, it’s get rich, die broke or die trying... (Verse II) This is that black magic on that voodoo shit, Native Tongue, black, red and green, Zulu shit/sun rising in the east, on some Jeru shit, sure shot, moment of truth, Guru shit/please, who want drama with this Crooklyn Dodger, as kids we used to play cops and robbers, now we grown, my niggas ain’t cops, they robbers/run up on ‘em, back ‘em down, clap and rob ‘em/ that’s how it goes son if you from here, ill advised, who said it’s safe to come here?/old timers on crates drinking that one beer, my heart pump rage, your heart pump fear/Masonic lodges, what do these signs mean? those tarot cards, what do my palms read?/we got sight, but yet and still the blind lead, age of Aquarius what will these times bring?/we battle on in this Babylon, fighting devils like Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan/trying to build a new pantheon, keep your torch old nigga, I’mma run my own marathon/I’m Brooklyn’s voice, fuck critics and speculation, rightful heir, fuck crowns and coronations/my raps impact ghettos across the nation, the bridge is over like Kris said, reformation, reformation, reformation...

Celebrate me while I’m here, embrace me while I’m here, don’t wait till I’m gone to shed tears/or tap bottles, crack Dutches, spill out guts and pour out beers, I need that love/the world is so miserable, I need my drugs, my man got locked, I need that plug, give the connect up/XXL couldn’t predict I was the next up, in Brooklyn we aim for the neck up/feel me, “Holla If You Hear Me” Strictly 4 My N.I.G.G.A.Z., keep it G till’ they kill me/Niccolo Machiavelli left his prints on a young street nigga, now I’m shining like The Prince/regal is my demeanor, fuck a misdemeanor, my theme to Damascus, road to Medina/Lord, show a nigga something, it’s written in the stars and the signs show you coming/but until then, I teach and instill values on children, show these little boys how to be real men, guns conceal them, differentiate associates from real friends/cuz, people get fake, don’t fret just learn from your mistakes, life’s Too Short like dawg from the Bay, if it’s money to be made, then it’s money I’mma make/the rules of a boss, taking no shorts, taking no loss, Renaissance!

(Verse I) 
Word to me I need an intervention, I need another route, pardon the venting I just need someone to hear me out/maybe a Steve Stoute or a Clark Kent, looking at the older heads up on the park bench/and ever so often, the hearts of black men darken from Hennessy Black, Bacardi Dark and…/man we lost ‘em, couldn’t make it upstream, never made it out the creek like Dawson/carrying heat like an arson, bodies on the road, decomposed, couldn’t afford a coffin/no reinforcements, around here no recruiters, drug dealers giving out endorsements/I got a car note, you got a mortgage, our jobs up in the air, we both lost it, like George Clooney/we call each other nigga like Paul Mooney, politically correct? sorry, sue me/not enough loose leaf to document what hides under, my Yankee fitted, the doorag or kufi/coming from Brooklyn like Mookie, the army jacket hides condom wrappers and a sub-machine uzi/hid in the inner lining or under the car seat, my shorty in the car and we don’t got a car seat, forced to hold and save the baby like Weezy F/first Katrina, then Haiti, then what’s coming next?/got a nigga stressed, that’s why I drink a lot, did “Stay Fitted”, automatically I’m going pop/I don’t want to rock, nigga I want the rock, give me the ball, game winning, last jump shot/I ain’t afraid to take it, nor afraid to miss, what wealthy people got in common is them taking risks/I’mma take my chance, drop gems like jewelers with shaky hands from complications of Parkinson’s/forget your cubicles and your offices, constantly harassed by entry-level officers/barely making $40K a year and got the nerve to ask me why I’m standing here/nigga I need to get paper, forget that bureaucratic hard labor, pink slip/said I need to get paper, forget that bureaucratic hard labor, I gotta get… (Hook) 
I gotta get out of here, out of here/I gotta get out of here, out of here/I gotta get out… (Verse II) 
 Now, you could be from a different walk of life, if you was broke and had to struggle you feel my plight/had to juggle decisions trying to get it right, sleep deprivation through the wee hours of lonely nights/I was hungry, full plate, both hands full, but God never gave me more than I can handle/that’s some real shit, beyond a rap verse, I grab the mic, my nigga rather grab his gat first/make ya money nigga, do what you gotta do, cuz when you’re broke they don’t respect or acknowledge you/I went through obstacles knowing I would get lost and took the rode less traveled, the rap Robert Frost/this is the story arc, epilogue, overview, soundtrack to my life, written from a focal view/I’m who the youngin’s gonna grow up to, so what my predecessors showed me, that’s what I’m showing you/now you could take it with a grain of salt or you could come along all aboard my train of thought/they all wrote me off, called me a lost cause, kept quiet til’ I broke ice like Pauley Shore/this is my story ya’ll, pertaining to my life, so take me as I am, good or bad, wrong or right/so take me as I am, I gotta get out… (Hook x3)

Will I forever be alone in this world?/will I forever be alone in this world?   I made a promise that I’d never take a Pac line, didn’t take your words to your chorus for this one time/please forgive me I’d never smear your work but for what it’s worth, I send condolences in the form of opuses to prove that roses do grow from the crevices of hopelessness/they ask “what you gonna show the kids?”, I say, "everything I never got to see and everything in between and nothing that’s on the screen"/we need new leaders, they paying athletes but they can’t pay teachers/white Jesus on the walls of cathedrals and this is who we pray to, man I pray too/but not to a stained glass or a statue, while they was playing at school, I was playing “Cash Rules Everything Around Me”, memorizing rap tunes/and I was never into tattoos, nah, fuck inking my skin, I’d rather ink the Benz like Duro and them, cream on the inside, ice cream paint job, ride till the wheels fall off and I can’t drive…/this is for the people getting jackets at a coat drive, out of work, laid-off, company downsize/and to the children eating Crown Fried Chicken, finger lickin’, malnutrition/no Trader Joe’s, we ain’t got dough for Whole Foods, no family meals, this is not soul food/nah, we don’t eat with our parents, we take our food to our rooms and watch Rocsi and Terrance/just hanging outside of buildings like a balcony terrace/just staring, standing idle, no idols, crushing weed on the King James bible, high to the point I start feeling suicidal/why you couldn’t take George Bush instead of Michael, why they throw the book at a nigga like Michael Vick, now ain’t that a bitch, dog fighting is wrong but hunting is legit/remembering the days I said I want to quit, what kept me going was footage of Notorious B.I. and my cousin Trish/I do this for Brooklyn and niggas on the strip, I do this for New York despite the deficits and the economic crisis/my mom’s made sacrifices, I ain’t have no pops to ride bikes with, all alone thinking bout words I can rhyme with “pain” just to maintain/sometimes I feel like too much stress on my brain, shit, let me just stop, dedicated to Pac, another teardrop on that wooden casket/the fucka that killed you is a bastard, you affected me so drastic/“Still I Rise”, still drinking “Thug Passion”, still waiting for “Change” but nothing ever happens/that’s why I never went to the ballots during the Obama craze, we want change like the Million Man March, Martin or Mahatma Ghandi days/damn, and we still waiting for Better Dayz, so this one is to commemorate your life, your legacy and your death/contributions you made I never will forget, so I “Pour A Little Liquor” and respect, I said I “Pour A Little Liquor” and respect, I said “Pour A Little Liquor” and respect my nigga, I’m out…