New York Lyrics

[Intro: Lon Dini (Fes Taylor)]
Dini, baby, Two 4 War (The Milli is back)
We about to blow, you faggot niggaz ain't ready, man
Know I mean? (Return of The Milli)
Dini forever, man, L.I., Baby Pa, L.G.P.
(You niggaz ain't ready) Get Fresh Crew
Let's do it (You don't got a choice but to get ready)

[Lon Dini:]
Yo, I flow through, anti-social
You clown niggaz loco, I f**k bad bitches on every postal
Move and you see it come through with new recruits
Cause I keep baggies and boots, and niggaz'll shoot
Like I said before I write it on spot, I'm going straight to the top
Like the yae when it touches the pot
Only the kid Dini can do this, smooth but I'm ruthless
Violators get chased down and beat toothless
Two of the kicks sounding like the tank let off
We and Taylor hopped in the '07 shit and jet off
Grandpa asleep, I'm in the room chopping grams
How dare you faggot f**ks ever try to bite the hand
Of the man that feeds you, the man that leads you
Guerilla warfare, motherf**ker, we breed crews
Bang on you faggot ass clowns
All you cowards scatter like f**king roaches when you hear that sound
Yea, huh...

[Hook x2: Fes Taylor]
New York, New York

[Pa Bazil:]
Yo, yo, check it
They say a measure of a man is measured by his accomplishments
When you wack, fool, you get no acknowledgement
Just gotta swallow it, back to the drawing board
When it gets too tough and we might write some songs for y'all
Hit it like Arthur with murderous ways
With the help of my niggaz we'll take over this place
Just like a moment of fate, it was written in the cards
Like the Sun was a line between the moon and the stars
And by the way, my name is the Pa
I done fathered many styles on the Shao' so get ready for more
You never know what he's holding in store
You gotta guess it's ugly
Been through the line of fire so I bet the rest is nothing
I figure less discussion, more action and destruction
At anyone who has the audac' to try and send me something

[Fes Taylor:]
Myspace.com, we got spins like Flex dropped the bomb
Modern day King Kong, alright, building in my palm
Twin Tower of P, that's my my charm
This ain't back in the days, my beeper's gone
Yea, we on that Nextel chirp, I got work
I promote like I got milk right in the dirt
Uh-huh, feel the worms and the snakes pass by
My cash buy, anything I want so I ain't gotta ask why
Fast fry like french fries, cause my cash pries
Ultimate hustler but I don't got Damon Dash ties
Now I arise from the dead, my niggaz lost lives and they bled
Blow it through Mexico, hide it from the feds
Yea, yea, Federallis, firearms, you never carry
See me crack a smile, not necessarily happy
I growl at the beat, I'm just starting to bark
Then I bite, step on ya toes, paw on ya Clark's
Ferrari is parked, you shook when the lobby is dark
The beat gasoline, probably'll spark
Fire, nigga, fire alarms, stop, look, admire the Don
Cars on cinder blocks, tires is gone
Fly as the Fonz, never went bronze
But I'm trying to stunt gold sold this pair of LeBrons
How we do things, even my shoes bling
Willie Rocks, tell 'em these ain't rhymes, those in a shoe string
This my new thing, Taylor and Pa Bazil
Dini, Lis, Gil put his cards on the table
We dealing with a royal flush
So when you peasents in the presence of royalty, shut up and hush

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Record Label(s): 2015 Chambermusik Special Products

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