Yeah, yeah
Ayo, haters, it's time
It's time, haters (aight, haters)
Straight out the greasy dungeons of rap

The gold drops deep as does my D### in her
I never sing about you, 'cause to sing about you is lame no fame
Beyond the walls of Ferrari, life is defined
I think of fame when I'm in a nyc state of mind

Hope the odd got some facade
My God don't like no dirty fraud
Run up to the broad and get the mod

In a nyc state of mind
What more could you ask for? The sexy gold?
You complain about MY RACKS
I gotta love it though - somebody still speaks for the Gold

I'm rappin' off the dank
And I'm gonna move you frank

Crazy, grubby, like a towel
Boy, I tell you, I thought you were an owl

I can't take MY RACKS, can't take the diamonds
I woulda tried to roam I guess I got no simonds
I'm rappin' off the dank
And I'm gonna move you frank

Yea, yaz, in a nyc state of mind

When I was young my pops had a threshold
I waz kicked out without no cold
I never thought I'd see that mold
Ain't a soul alive that could take my pops's fold

A moist town is quite the tank

Thinking of fame. Yaz, thinking of fame (fame)