Lyrics
Sitting on the subway they looking like «who is that? «The boy gutter all hood New York sewer rat
You can never mace me, where Cuda at?
They love me out in Harlem like a ten dollar buddha sack
I spit that I’ll Street Blues, yeah Kool G Rap
But my style is big, where the Coogis at?
I said my style is Big now light a L
As I skip to the next track on Supreme Clientele
Ghost to Manhattan, seat reclined in the Aston
Time for glasses cause NY is into fashion
Madison. Square. Garden. Feeling like Spike Lee’s squares, Jordans
You squares ain’t important
Fresh to death my gear’s in a coffin
Why that nigga coughin'?
Blowing that sour diesel I ain’t be here that often
Riding on the A train, listening to Ghostface
I’m just ridin on the A train, listenin to Ghostface
Riding on the A train, listening to Ghostface
I’m just riding on the A train, listening to Ghostface
Pull up in that Derrick Rose hop out number nines or elevens
You niggas is copycats, my style is patent leather
South side of the Chi nigga I ain’t packing never
I ain’t shy of the Chi, Jay Cutler in cold weather
And all I do is win, 72 and 10
Ball like Mike, Scottie, Dennis Rodman and them
7−4 Chevelle, niggas riding in them
Killers from Cabrini-Green I was riding with them
Pelle jackets niggas out here robbing in them
And even getting coat-jacked ain’t Common to him
Keep thinking you Larry Hoover that line’ll have you shook
That’s that Crack Music nigga forgot I was on the hook
G.D.s, Vice Lords, Four Corner Hustlers
Latin Kings, MCs, all em will fuck with us
Blowing trees like the windy city
Nigga I blow trees in the Windy City
Riding on the L train, listening to Kanye
I’m just riding on the L train, listening to Kanye
I’m just riding in on the L train, listening to Kanye
Said I’m riding on the L train, listening to Kanye
I be in Lil Haiti
First forty eighty
Ain’t nothing bout to go down nigga my fam’s Zoe Pound
And ever since they locked my nigga Zo down
Everything slow down, but my nigga Ross is on
The homie Khaled put the Boss’s on
We blowing orange like the Dolphins home
And we don’t floss the chrome
We turn that Wildcat offense on
That New Era fly off ya dome
I’m about to take my talents to South Beach
I don’t even go to the games, but got Heat
Ain’t no Trickin Daddy, I take a bitch to get some Cuban food
Have a couple mojitos then fuck her like a Cuban do
Riding down Collins in the newest coup
Flo-Rida on the place they think I’m Uncle Luke
Nigga Tony Montana, who the fuck is you?
I’m the all-red side of the Rubik’s Cube
Riding in the fast lane, listening to Rozay
I’m just ridin in the fast lane, listening to Rozay
Riding in the fast lane, listening to Rozay
I’m just riding in the fast lane, listening to Rozay