Shyheim - Staten Island lyrics

['Gangs of New York' sample] Anytime that I wish I could turn it against you [Fastlife Fox] Let me take you to my location, where they treat me like Naseem Coming to America, it's Akim Fastlife Fox, can't see him even if I had Visine I stretch a n***a out like widescreen Me, Myself & Irene, a bullet pistol right out of my jeans Drive-by, cut off the high beams Fly by, gun off your fly team And hit 'em from the Bottom Up, bang bang, shout out to Shyheim I ain't nothing like the rest of these dudes I make a call and have seventy goons One down on 'em, like a robbery, don't mess with me, fool Who wanna dance, I'mma step on your shoes, you wanna dance? I do the Gregory Hines and tap on your spine Push your front to the back of your mind Cook you up like crack on the grind, so look me up You can find me in the Yellow Pages, under Staten, it's time [Shyheim] I'm straight out of Staten Island, 10304 Richmond County I smoke that good soury, I be baked like brownies High like howdy, or a Allen Ive' alley You be f**ing with that brown weed while my Al's Green I'm a k**a Bee who k**ed a Bee, I took Rae's sting I got my own website, I don't need no ning n***as in jail with no internet still got my link And the Bottom be popping bottles, we don't cop no drinks [Castro] Aiyo, you can get popped through your Sox hat, you melt like hot wax You can't say sh** when I co*k back Here we go f*ggots, felt was radioactive Every hi-tech vehicle, stereo hazard I bag bad dimes, I go scary ol' fat chicks One shot through the chest, aerial back flip Word to the fid-eye, my gun bang like a trid-op Back baby nid-eye, and swing Glocks baptid-ize Low's gold BS, so stone cold and fresh If I blew in the air, I'd make the o-zone connect Old road to d**h, my soul won't go to rest Until I k** all my enemies, and smoke all they flesh [Nizzle] Growing up in the Staten, ya'll think sh** don't happen? Thirty years old, tossing them hats, man Drug money, easy, n***as doing it backwords Well fronting on my strip, I'll get them smoked like Backwoods From the 2-4, to the number one kitchen I'm the man in the porch, still I hold a Mr. Smithen Westing, homeboy, best to get to stepping Cuz I don't give a f** about you, or what camp you repping Chain gang's not to be f**ed with, trust this Cuz n***as like me, I'm all in, they bluffing n***as could catch me, posted on the Ave Pushing the new Jag, blowing on purple gra** P.O.R.T. Richmond Home of the greatest, still home of some snitches I don't give a f**, I got the chrome for them b**hes One shot deal, blow them bones out them chickens It's Nizzle