Children Of The Corn - Harlem Nights lyrics

(Bloodshed) Yo, I'm mad vexed, give me your address And I'll deliver, stand and watch you shiver As the bullets travel through your liver This n***a bloodshed is mad rough Battling me is like jumping inside a river while you're handcuffed My fist is more nastier than Travel Fox My silhouette inside intensive care, because I like to shadowbox My gat makes more noise then Roman candles I stay in murder scandles, and dust the fingerprints of burner handles And I left Jehovah slain, I don't cry over pain Cause I puff fat dimes of novacaine Murder astrologist, mad cases of manslaughter I rape this man's daughter, then put the sh** on cam corder Put it for sale on 2-5th and 8th Her pops tried to flex and ba**, then the tech correct and spit in his face, her brother dice tried to get shiest So I took his life, with a knife, then asked him twice about his f**ing son and wife After that, I load the gat and let the lead start flying That sh** is d**h defying, now you need dental records to identify him I had beef with this Priest his name was father Clyde This how he died, I had seven put on his side, and fulled him with formaldehyde I get more high then frequencies, no one gets a** deep as me Your worst nightmare, don't sleep on me (Chorus) "It ain't where you're form it's where you at" - Rakim So when you walk through Harlem f*ggot watch your back "It ain't where you're from it's where you at" - Rakim So when you walk through Harlem f*ggot watch your back (Cam'Ron) Yo, I'm a cat with 9 live, but everyday I risk them Pop shots the glock at the cop and missed him now he's all up in the system Upstate, buying for crime, slaving the time My mother down here praying for mine Cause I'm like Snider, living one day at a time Harlem's a rough route, get snuffed out in a tough bout The streets is full of smoking guns from people getting puffed out I scrap them like a sculpture, living out my f**ing culture My crews a bunch of vultures with the .38s and holsters And I quick to hurt a fool, cause money got that murder pull And don't leave my house without the guns, mask and surgicals Don't tell me how I act and sound, I pack a mack and pound And strap them down to clap them clowns, I never seen a cap and gown and I'm a basketcase, I'll bash your face, and blast your waist In a casket trace, cause me and this ba*tard Mase, drop at a tragic place Cause uptown it ain't nothing sweet, it's just guns a grief Tons of beef, and little n***az run the streets And pop the boots for lots of loot Even sell a cop a deuce, on top of roofs But be careful cause the glocks is loose And I'ma choke you like a capsule, n***az wanna scrap? Boat And I'ma end the sh** on that note (Chorus) "It ain't where you're form it's where you at" - Rakim So when you walk through Harlem f*ggot watch your back "It ain't where you're from it's where you at" - Rakim So when you walk through Harlem f*ggot watch your back (Big L) My click is quick to pull a bullet through a stranger's dome You should've known not to roam through the danerzone In Harlem is where the thugs rest In a slugfest, we sending f*ggots "All the Way to Heaven" like Doug Fresh Big L grow up in the slums of greed I'm known for drawing guns with speed, and selling tons of weed Cause I got sons to feed And it's a must that I commence to slain Any f*ggot MC that goes against the grain And I'ma smoke Pataki's a** and Rudolph Giuli' like a Woolie Keep a toolie for any moolie who act fooley So if a n***a disrespect L, to hell is where I'm send them After I skin him, And spit some venenom in him Run with introduers, looters and sharpshooters Who spark buddah and f** thick b**hes with large hooters Beat n***az with lead pipes, leave trails of dead mics Cause where I'm from n***az j**els get run like red lights Old folks get mugged and raided, crimes are drug related And we live by the street rules the thugs created Clowns get smoked about a thousand volts So front and get a tech shoved down your throat