Memory Lane (Sittin' in da Park)

Aight, fuck that shit! Word, word Fuck that other shit, y'know what I'm sayin'? We gonna do a lil somethin' like this Y'know what I'm sayin'? (Y'all doing that other shit) Keep it on and on and on and on and Know'm sayin'? Big Nas, Grand Wizard, what is it? (It's like...) Haha, you know what I'm sayin'? Yo, go ahead and rip that shit, dun! I rap for listeners, bluntheads, fly ladies, and prisoners Henessey-holders and old-school niggas, then I be dissin' a Unofficial that smoke Woolie Thai I dropped out of Cooley High Gassed up by a cokehead cutie pie Jungle survivor, fuck who's the live-er My man put the battery in my back, a difference from Energizer Sentence begins indented with formality My duration's infinite, moneywise or physiology Poetry, that's a part of me, retardedly bop I drop the ancient manifested hip-hop straight off the block I reminisce on park jams, my man was shot for his sheep coat Chocolate blunts make me see him drop in my weed smoke It's real, grew up in trife life, did times or white lines The hype pipes, murderous nighttimes And knife fights and blight crimes Chill on the block with Cognac, hold strap With my peeps that's into drug money market interact No sign of the beast in the blue Chrysler I guess that means peace For niggas, no sheisty vice to just snipe ya Start off the dice-rollin' mats for craps to cee-lo With side-bets, I roll a deuce, nothin' below (Peace God!) Peace God – now the shit is explained I'm takin' niggas on a trip straight through memory lane It's like that, y'all "Now let me take a trip down memory lane" "Comin' outta Queensbridge" One for the money, two for pussy and foreign cars Three for Alizé, niggas deceased or behind bars I rap divine, God, check the prognosis: is it real or showbiz? My window faces shootouts, drug overdoses Live amongst no roses, only the drama For real, a nickel-plate is my fate, my medicine is the ganja Here's my basis, my razor embraces, many faces You're telephone blown, black, stitches or fat shoelaces Peoples are petro, dramatic automatic .44 I let blow And back down po-po when I'm vexed so My pen taps the paper, then my brain's blank I see dark streets, hustlin' brothers who keep the same rank Pumpin' for somethin', some'll prosper, some fail Judges hangin' niggas, uncorrect bails for direct sales My intellect prevails from a hangin' cross with nails I reinforce the frail, with lyrics that's real Word to Christ, a disciple of streets, trifle on beats I decipher prophecies through a mic and say "peace" I hung around the older crews While they sling smack to dingbats They spoke of Fat Cat; that nigga's name made bell rings, black Some fiends scream about Supreme Team, a Jamaica Queens thing Uptown was Alpo, son, heard he was kingpin Yo, fuck, rap is real! Watch the herbs stand still Never talkin' to snakes, 'cause the words of man kill True in the game, as long as blood is blue in my veins I pour my Heineken brew to my deceased crew on memory lane "Now let me take a trip down memory lane" "Comin' outta Queensbridge" "Now let me take a trip down memory lane" "Comin' outta Queensbridge" "Comin' out of Queensbridge" "The most dangerous MC is..." "Comin' out of Queensbridge" "The most dangerous MC is..." "Comin' out of Queensbridge" "The most dangerous MC is..." "Comin' out of Queensbridge" "The most dangerous MC is..." "Me number one, and you know where me from"