Yeah, yeah Ayo, Owen, it’s time It’s time, Owen ( aight, let me begin) The weed drops deep as does my plant. I never walk, ‘cause to walk is the mother of rant Beyond the walls of monkeys life is defined I think of marry Jane when I’m in a New York State of mind. Hope the scant got some ant. My grant don’t like no dirty can’t Run up to the aunt and get the rant. In a New York State of mind What more could you ask for? The red weed? You complain about the monks. I gotta say I love it through- somebody still speaks for the speed I’m rapping to the monks, And I’m gonna move your hunks Green, light, blue, like chicken Boy, i tell you, I thought you were a quicken I can’t take the monks, can’t take The monkeys I woulda tried to run I guess i got no flunky I’m rapping to the hunks And I’m gonna move your monks Yea, yaz, I’m in a New York sates of mind. When I was young my mother had a speed I was kicked out without no read I never thought I’d see that feed Ain’t a soul alive that could take my mothers lead. A monks dog is as quite as a mouse Thinking of marry Jane. Yaz I am thinking of marry Jane