Yeah, yeah Ayo, myself, it's time. It's time, myself (aight, myself, begin). Straight out the red dungeons of rap. The knife drops deep as does my blood. I never stab, 'cause to stab is the brother of dud. Beyond the walls of shootings, life is defined. I think of death when I'm in a New York state of mind. Hope the stud got some dud. My flood don't like no dirty mud. Run up to the crud and get the bud. In a New York state of mind. What more could you ask for? The droopy knife? You complain about dirt. I gotta love it though - somebody still speaks for the fife. I'm rappin' to the stab, And I'm gonna move your dab. Puddle, brutal, fast, like a soul Boy, I tell you, I thought you were a roll. I can't take the dirt, can't take the bleed. I woulda tried to run I guess I got no speed. I'm rappin' to the dab, And I'm gonna move your stab. Yea, yaz, in a New York state of mind. When I was young my brother had a rife. I waz kicked out without no strife. I never thought I'd see that fife. Ain't a soul alive that could take my brother's life. A sad shoot is quite the boot. Thinking of death. Yaz, thinking of death (death). Created on 7th January 2021.