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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
JAY-Z
JAY-Z
Vocals
Omar Edwards
Omar Edwards
Keyboards
Quintin Q Gulledge
Quintin Q Gulledge
Keyboards
Adam Blackstone
Adam Blackstone
Bass
Chris Payton
Chris Payton
Guitar
Eric Boots Greene
Eric Boots Greene
Drums
Larrance Dopson
Larrance Dopson
Percussion
Kenneth Whalum
Kenneth Whalum
Saxophone
Keyon Harrold
Keyon Harrold
Trumpet
Gil Scott-Heron
Gil Scott-Heron
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Gil Scott-Heron
Gil Scott-Heron
Songwriter
Shawn Carter
Shawn Carter
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
JAY-Z
JAY-Z
Producer
Omar Edwards
Omar Edwards
Producer
Gimel "Young Guru" Keaton
Gimel "Young Guru" Keaton
Mixing Engineer
Ken "Pooch" Van Druten
Ken "Pooch" Van Druten
Recording Engineer

Lyrics

Yeah! Yeah, I'm out that Brooklyn, now I'm down in Tribeca Right next to De Niro, but I'll be hood forever I'm the new Sinatra, and since I made it here I can make it anywhere, yeah, they love me everywhere I used to cop in Harlem, hola, my Dominicanos (Dimelo!) Right there up on Broadway, brought me back to that McDonald's Took it to my stash spot, 560 State Street Catch me in the kitchen, like a Simmons whipping pastry Cruising down 8th Street, off-white Lexus Driving so slow, but BK is from Texas Me? I'm out that Bed-Stuy, home of that boy Biggie Now I live on Billboard and I brought my boys with me Say, "What up?" to Ty Ty, still sipping Mai Tais Sitting courtside, Knicks and Nets give me high fives Nigga, I be spiked out, I could trip a referee Tell by my attitude that I'm most definitely from Don't you know, don't you know New York was killing me Yes, I was standing nearly dying here New York was killing me Seems like I need to start over And move back home in Jackson, Tennessee In, in, in, in New York Catch me at the X with OG at a Yankee game Shit, I made the Yankee hat more famous than a Yankee can You should know I bleed blue, but I ain't a Crip though But I got a gang of niggas walking with my clique though Welcome to the melting pot, corners where we're selling rock Africa Bambaataa shit, home of the hip-hop Yellow cab, gypsy cab, dollar cab, holler back For foreigners, it ain't fair, they act like they forgot how to add Eight million stories out there in the naked City, it's a pity half of y'all won't make it Me? I gotta plug Special Ed, "I Got It Made" If Jeezy's paying LeBron, I'm paying Dwyane Wade Three dice cee-lo, three-card Marley Labor Day Parade, rest in peace, Bob Marley Statue of Liberty, long live the World Trade Long live the king, yo, I'm from the Empire State, that's Don't you know, don't you know New York was killing me Yes, I was standing nearly dying here New York was killing me In, in, in, in New York Seems like I need to start over And move back home in Jackson, Tennessee Lights is blinding, girls need blinders So they can step out of bounds quick, the side lines is Lined with casualties who sip the life casually Then gradually become worse, don't bite the apple, Eve! Caught up in the in-crowd, now you're in-style Into the winter gets cold, en vogue with your skin out City of sin is a pity on a whim Good girls gone bad, the city's filled with them Mami took a bus trip, now she got her bust out Everybody ride her, just like a bus route "Hail Mary" to the city, you're a virgin And Jesus can't save you, life starts when the church end Came here for school, graduated to the high life Ball players, rap stars, addicted to the limelight MDMA got you feeling like a champion The city never sleeps, better slip you're a Ambien Lord have mercy, mercy on me Yeah, Lord have mercy, have mercy on me Tell him to bury my body back home in Jackson, Tennessee Yeah, Lord have mercy, have mercy on me In, in, in, in New York
Writer(s): Burt Keyes, Janet Sewell, Shawn Carter, Alexander Shuckburgh, Alicia Keys, Angela Hunte, Sylvian Robinson Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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