New York Times song by J. Cole from Primary Album Album not found. The music is composed and produced by Joel. Genre is New York, Hip-Hop, Rap music. The Record company is unknown. Released on None.
New York Times Meaning
| [[Intro: J. Cole] This for all my niggas in the city But this shit really for Queens though Really for Queens though, ya know? Big city of dreams, motivated by schemes Getting money regiment with my gettin’ money regime Ya nah mean? Yeah, yeah [Verse 1: J. Cole] New York Times, come listen to these New York rhymes A southern nigga with a New York mind In the concrete jungle of Queens trying to be Kings Getting to the money, it seems, by any means As I, watch it all pan out, try not to stand out Fish out of water, yet an official reporter Up here, life is a bitch, I blow a kiss at her daughter In the city where niggas will leave your shit outta order So yeah, you heard the news, disturbing news Shot {censored} brother in the head, thank the Lord he ain’t dead Was in a coma for months, eyes ain’t opened up once My nigga visibly stressin’, a mess, he smoking his blunt What could I say? I can’t relate to that, all I do is pray for that This the city of God told me go and make it at I got a date with destiny, I’m running late for that Grab a paper, hey kid, you gotta pay for that , [Chorus: J. Cole & 50 Cent] The New York Times, yeah The New York Times Extra, extra, read all about it They say you can win anywhere if you can win here And you ain’t been nowhere if you ain’t been here Hustle hard, yeah it really ain’t a game mane Same places, different faces on the train mane New York, New York [Verse 2: J. Cole] Hop on the F train, took the express train Skip that local shit, my vocals sick, that’s how success came Once kings, now we pawns in this chess game Wall Street got black slave blood stains Which means, we built this city And never got scraps while the devil got fat In fact, reparations for niggas in desperation Fuck money, get my kid a real education Blood money spills, had a real revelation Southside make you realize there’s still segregation Don’t wanna preach, I’m just thinking out loud Sometimes I wanna save the world and I be thinking ’bout how My motive, to lead my niggas to paradise Imagine the world free from pain and we no longer scared at night Far from the crime, the blind leading the blind We don’t make it primetime ’til we dyin’ , [Chorus: J. Cole & 50 Cent] The New York Times The New York Times, yeah The New York Times Extra, extra, read all about it They say you can win anywhere if you can win here And you ain’t been nowhere if you ain’t been here Hustle hard, yeah it really ain’t a game mane Same places, different faces on the train mane New York, New York [Verse 3: Bas] How I go from selling reefer and plates To eating steaks with Cole and playing FIFA with Drake? Shoulda been in the States, property of the Jakes Now I’m plotting on profits and properties on the lake Let me properly integrate you to it Show you how the heads of states and gangsters do it Them niggas talk a lot of shit but they ain’t been through it I done been up in everything, cars you never seen Cities you never heard of, from the streets where they murder Police observe us ’til they reach the verdict Kill ’em all, fucking kill ’em all If you can’t send ’em to the pen, send ’em to the morgue Send ’em to the Lord, fuck it, send his broad Hundred shots through the dark but they never hit my heart Nigga, bitch nigga, take a pause Hundred shots through the dark, you can never hit my heart , [Chorus: J. Cole & 50 Cent] New York Times The New York Times, yeah The New York Times Extra, extra, read all about it They say you can win anywhere if you can win here And you ain’t been no where if you ain’t been here Hustle hard, yeah it really ain’t a game mane Same places, different faces, on the train mane New York, New York] |
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