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New York Times (feat. 50 Cent & Bas)

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New York Times (feat. 50 Cent & Bas) - J. Cole Lyrics


New York Times
Come listen to these New York rhymes
A southern nigga with a New York mind
In the concrete jungle of Queens trying to be kings
Getting to the money of sins by any means
As I watch it all, pain out, trying not to stand out

Fish out of water, unofficial reporter

Appear, life is a bitch I blow a kiss at her daughter

In a city with niggas will leave you shit outta order

So yeah, you heard the news, disturbing news

Shot a brother in the head, thank the lord he ain't dead

Was in a coma for months, eyes ain't opened not once

My nigga visibally stressed in a mess he's smoking a blunt

What could I say, I can't relate to that

All I do is pray for that

This is city God told me, go and make it at

I got a date with destiny, I'm running late for that

Grab a paper, hey kid, you gotta pay for that



The New York Times

The New York Times

(Extra, extra, read all about it)

They say you can win anywhere if you can win here

And you ain't been no where if you ain't been here

Hustle hard, yeah it really ain't a game mane

Same places, different faces, on the train mane

New York, New York



Hop on the F train, took the express train

Skip that local shit, my vocal sick

That's how success came

Once kings, now we pawns in this chess game

Wall Street got black slave blood stains

Which means, we built this city

And never got scraps while the devil got fat

In fact, reparation for niggas in desperation

Fuck money, get my kid a real education

Blood money spills, had a real revelation

Southside make you realize there's still segregation

Don't wanna preach, I'm just thinking out loud

Sometimes I wanna save the world and I be thinking 'bout how

My motive: to lead my niggas to paradise

Imagine the world, free from pain

And we no longer scared of night

Far from the crime, the blind leading the blind

We gon' make it primetime till we dyin'



The New York Times

The New York Times

(Extra, extra, read all about it)

They say you can win anywhere if you can win here

And you ain't been no where if you ain't been here

Hustle hard, yeah it really ain't a game mane

Same places, different faces, on the train mane

New York, New York



How I go from selling reefa and plates

To eating steaks with Cole and playing FIFA with Drake

Should've been in the States, property of the Jakes

Now I'm plotting on profits and properties on the lake

Let me properly immigrate you to it

Show you how the heads of states and gangsters do it

Them niggas talk a lot of shit but they ain't been through it

I done been up in everything, cars you never seen

Cities you never heard of, from the streets where they murder

Police observe us till they reach the verdict

Kill 'em all, fucking kill 'em all

If you can't send 'em to the pen, send 'em to the morgue

Send 'em to the Lord, fuck it, send his broad

Hundred shots through the dark but they never hit my heart, nigga

Bitch nigga, take a pause

Hundred shots through the dark you can never hit my heart



The New York Times

The New York Times

(Extra, extra, read all about it)

They say you can win anywhere if you can win here

And you ain't been no where if you ain't been here

Hustle hard, yeah it really ain't a game mane

Same places, different faces, on the train mane

New York, New York

New York Times (feat. 50 Cent & Bas) lyrics !!!