This is, this is
This is, this is
I got a hundred guns, a hundred clips
I got a hundred guns, a hundred clips
Nigga I’m from New York (New York)
I got a semi-automatic that spits
Next time if you talk (you talk)
I got a hundred guns, a hundred clips
Nigga I’m from New York (New York)
I got a semi-automatic that spits
Next time if you talk (you talk)
(And I know)
Y’all niggas is pussy, punani, vagina
Your monologue’s getting tired, now it’s time to ride
Apprentice you’re fired, you’re no longer desired
So take off them silly chains, put back on your wire
I’m on fire; Harley dipped in octane
Let East Coast bang, let West Coast bang
And Rule gon’ bring the ghetto gospel
To every hood possible, pushing through in the sky blue
Back with the gods, you now, preferably the four pound
Slugs flying at the speed of sound
Trying to catch the ears of niggas that’s running their mouths
I might get my Brooklyn niggas to run in your house
I don’t really understand what the running’s about
But we’re hunters, we take pride in airing our prey out
Leaving ’em laid out, dead, in just a sport
‘Cause we ain’t playing up here in New York
I got a hundred guns, a hundred clips
Nigga, I’m from New York (New York)
And you can tell the way the homie spit
That nigga, I’m from New York (New York)
I got a hundred ways to make a grip
Yes, I’m from New York (New York)
And you can tell I get real ignorant
‘Cause nigga, I’m from New York (New York)
(And this is how we do)
Nigga, I can see the coke in your nose
This ain’t a movie, even he got his head blown on the globe
And I was just about to find God
But now that Ma$e is back, I think I’d much rather find a menage
And everybody talking crazy how they’re AK spit
But we done did some investigating, and they ain’t spray shit
Not me, I’m the truth, homie, got the industry shook like
“Naw, nigga, Joe gon’ let ’em loose on me”
True Story, I’m bringing the T back
Even Roy Jones was forced to Lean Back
My nigga Dre said, “Grind, Cook”
Now we killing them hard
Niggas said I must’ve found Pun’s rhyme book
Got bitches on top of the Phantom
And the pinky got bling, like the ring around Saturn
Cook Coke Crack, niggas fiend for that
And you already know the X is where the team be at, uh
I got a hundred guns, a hundred clips
Nigga, I’m from New York (New York)
Ruff Ryde, and D-Block and shit
Nigga, fuck what you thought (you thought)
And you can’t take shit for granted
‘Cause life is too short (too short)
I got a hundred guns, a hundred clips
Nigga, I’m from New York
(Ha-haaaeeh! And this is how we do)
I swear it couldn’t be sweeter, life’s a bitch
Depending on how you treat her, you might get rich
It’s guaranteed you gon’ die, you might get missed
For maybe two or three hours, ’til they light they spliffs
And that coke will get you a long time
But when I let ’em know the dope is out, it’s like America Online
Wise has awoken, and you know they say that you deserved it
Whenever you die with your eyes open
I still hold the title, ’cause I’m in the hood
Like them little motorcycles
Stick up kids hoppin’ out with them old rifles
Just doing shit for nothin’, it’s so spiteful, ha, I’m just like you
Word that niggas wanna murk you is in the air
A double shot of ‘gac and the purple is in the air
And I’m not cocky, I’m confident
So when you tell me I’m the best it’s a compliment
Ha-haaaeeh!
I got a hundred guns, a hundred clips
Nigga, I’m from New York, New York
And you can tell the way the homie spit
That nigga I’m from New York, New York
(I got a hundred guns, a hundred clips
Nigga, I’m from New York, New York)
I got a semi-automatic that spits
Next time if you talk, you talk
(And this is how we do)
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