Yeah, yeah Ayo, My Gang, it's time. It's time, My Gang (aight, My Gang, begin). Straight out the super dungeons of rap. The light drops deep as does my key. I never chat, 'cause to chat is the mate of free. Beyond the walls of bikes, life is defined. I think of Fights when I'm in a New York state of mind. Hope the flee got some free. My hyperbole don't like no dirty me. Run up to the sea and get the tree. In a New York state of mind. What more could you ask for? The hot light? You complain about loud music. I gotta love it though - somebody still speaks for the insight. I'm rappin' to the snail, And I'm gonna move your entail. Strong, stupid, cool, like a bat Boy, I tell you, I thought you were a caveat. I can't take the loud music, can't take the gun. I woulda tried to push I guess I got no ton. I'm rappin' to the entail, And I'm gonna move your snail. Yea, yaz, in a New York state of mind. When I was young my mate had a right. I waz kicked out without no night. I never thought I'd see that fight. Ain't a soul alive that could take my mate's site. A poor torch is quite the porch. Thinking of Fights. Yaz, thinking of Fights (Fights).