sportsaleproducts.com

[Featuring Call O' Da Wild]
Intro:
NYC
NYC it's hell of a place to be
Come inside
Wanna know? Let's go
The Big Rotten Apple surrounded by runaways connected by bridges
and uplift the sky high vertical positions
keeps criminals in vicious cycles
Unrestrainable
Cats be untameable and ghettos too
You might see nightly drug busts on corners and in corridors
outside of tenement walls
Number holes in back store fronts where senior citizens press their
luck
to win a quick bucks while blood guts
Litter sidewalks where cops use chalk to outline
ya physical design, now peep the headlines
"Madman kidnaps four or more
torch a nig' apartment store
on 25th and Douglas", parallel in pages "The Mob hits"
In Central Park, rapists with shake faces
It's all thorough, one city, five boroughs
Associated with interlockin sub tunnels
New York's undercover, haa
You niggas wanna know why the skies are grey like cold steel
Air still, quality stand to see the Mob tell
Too much confusion, car pollution, drug abusin
Distribution and gun shootin
Teenagers sportin vibrator pagers, fornicators
While immigrants work the garment district for low wages
Nigga's Pop's crazy alcoholic wit swollen lips
My moms be on some ol' fat cat shit
It's economic, supply and demand, increase ya profit
wit mad product, they can't sign us like domestic violence
It's goin down on my island or Manhatten
The Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens or Staten where shit happens
It's all thorough, one city, five boroughs
Associated with interlockin sub tunnels
New York's undercover brothers
For all you motherfuckers and baby mothers
Believe that!
Outro:
We're under siege, envy's NY period!
See New York City we get deep
We's rolls threes three and creep
New York's undercover you'll discover
You're under siege, envy's the NY period! And I call it, the broken hearted blues, 
The air on that night, was tempered like a knife, 
And the people wore the face masks of a clown, 
Don he was long, mis-shapen and forlorn, 
And his woman ran away without a smile. 

Days of the earth, are unbroken changeless turf, 
But the faces of the men are something else. 
In the wind, as a boy, was a spacious sexual toy, 
But baby, now he's a toothless baggy man, 
When the hills of the sun, make you feel that you are young, 

Get good now, and face your face into the wind. 
This is a song, that I wrote when I was young, 
And I called it the broken hearted blues.