New Year Banga Songtext / Lyric

Yo, Wisemen...

Bronze Nazareth... my nigga Phillie...

Yo... Salute the Kid...



It's a struggle on these streets, I'm the son, ya'll the seeds

Innocent young M.C.'s, maturing into trees

Seems I touch with the brush, Kevlaar never spoke much

But one stroke of the Dutch, I smear pictures with breath tucks

Touching the phat techs, I never handle, gripped the three eighty

Shady, I got clocked on the mandible, bloodied my structure

Got bagged, drunk on the streets, so wasted, all the jakes did

Was deliver me home to my bed sheets, sleet and rain

Blow east against the grain, I walk the bloody hills barefoot in the rain

Stained 24 hours, two to finish this joint

Annoint with holy water, Think Differently with a daughter

And civilized planets, revolving around my son

Sleepless nights, with a brain, full of banging guns

A serenade of grenade, shave my pain with metal umbrellas

Story tellers and hustlers, funnel the strugglers restless

Fall to my knees, in the lab, asking the most high to help us






It's been a long road, God knows, got me a strongehold

Palms so sweaty, legs feel like spaghetti

Yet now I think I'm ready, so long as the lord'll bless me

When I came from crumbs and sold drugs like ecstasy

Hung with killas, dodged bullets, to the next degree

Was wrong, like sex to me, to dead you in the streets

Over some shit you said to me, Think Differently, whatever

Just let it be, somebody fired my chef, I got the recipe

With this rap shit, I'm a wolf, ahead of sheep

Press meat, for the slaughter, I'm Nino to the Carter

Something you don't want a part of, with the heart of David

Against Goliath, you know this time, and stop playing

It's time for mic strangling, while life's are left dangling

In the violence, no lights, no cameras, just live action

Whether triggers are written, it's all real

Pencils are reinforced with steel, I got to live



Back in '94, I know math's calling your drawer

Flyers bust on it, ground work layed, dues paid

Dutch sauce waves calling, the streets is empty

Til my veins stay bubbling, that booth, my ice suit

I win your mic in a dice shoot, and any man who walk through hell

Will similary feel like I do

And vision my inscription, you see where I slept

Sat at the edge of an avalanche cliff, you see where I step

Think Differently in infamy, the most on slept

Equipped with gems, to blow the mind like turpan Thai wine

Keep the unstoppable odds in my stable, with the free cable box

To pay for studio locks, I rob big locks

Think not, of the Wise, my death color rhymes'll drain your colored eyes

Look what, I discover, rise

Without credit checks, bought that board, fucked our credit ever since

So it better work, instead of a beretta to work

Slitter my lurk, Gun Rule, Bermuda Tri-borough

Years later, on the furlow...