J.Cole, Bas, 50 Cent - New York Times lyrics

This for all my niggas in the city
But this shit really for Queens though
Really for Queens though, ya know?
Big city of dreams, motivated by schemes
Getting money regiment with my
Gettin' money regime ya nah mean? yeah, yeah

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, it seems, by any means
As I, watch it all pan out
Try not to stand out
Fish out of water, yet an official reporter
Up here, life is a bitch
I blow a kiss at her daughter
In the city where niggas will
Leave your shit outta order
So yeah, you heard the news, disturbing news
Shot censored brother in the head
Thank the Lord he ain't dead
Was in a coma for months
Eyes ain't opened up once
My nigga visibly stressin', a mess
He smoking his blunt
What could I say? I can't relate to that
All I do is pray for that
This the city of 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, yeah 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 nowhere 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 vocals 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
Reparations 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 at night
Far from the crime
The blind leading the blind
We don't make it primetime 'til we dyin'

The New York Times the New York Times, yeah
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 nowhere 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 reefer and plates
To eating steaks with Cole and
Playing FIFA with Drake?
Shoulda been in the States
Property of the Jakes
Now I'm plotting on profit's and
Properties on the lake
Let me properly integrate 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 'til 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

New York Times the New York Times, yeah
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