New York Times Lyrics by J. Cole


J. Cole Lyrics

New York Times Lyrics
[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 of sins by any means
As I watch it all, pain out, trying not to stand out
Fish out of water, unofficial reporter
Appear, life is a bitch I blow a kiss at her daughter
In a city with niggas will leave you shit outta order
So yeah, you heard the news, disturbing news
Shot a brother in the head, thank the lord he ain't dead
Was in a coma for months, eyes ain't opened not once
My nigga visibally stressed in a mess he's smoking a blunt
What could I say, I can't relate to that
All I do is pray for that
This is city 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

[Hook: 50 Cent & J. Cole]
The New York Times
The New York Times
(Extra, extra, read all about it)
They say you can win anywhere
If you can win there
And you ain't been nowhere if you ain't been there
Hustle hard yeah this really ain't a game man
Same places, different faces on the train, man
New York, New York

[Verse 2: J. Cole]
Hop on the F train, took the express train
Skip that local shit, my vocal 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, reparation for niggas in desperation
F*ck 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 of night
Far from the crime, the blind leading the blind
We gon' make it primetime till we dyin'

[Hook: 50 Cent & J. Cole]
The New York Times
The New York Times
(Extra, extra, read all about it)
They say you can win anywhere if you can win there
And you ain't been nowhere if you ain't been there
Hustle hard yeah this really ain't a game man
Same places, different faces on the train, man
New York, New York

[Verse 3: Bas]
How I go from selling reefa and plates
To eating steaks with Cole and playing FIFA with Drake
Should've been in the States, property of the Jakes
Now I'm plotting on profits and properties on the lake
Let me properly immigrate 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 till they reach the verdict
Kill 'em all, f*cking kill 'em all
If you can't send 'em to the pen, send 'em to the morgue
Send 'em to the Lord, f*ck 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

[Hook: 50 Cent & J. Cole]
The New York Times
The New York Times
(Extra, extra, read all about it)
They say you can win anywhere if you can win there
And you ain't been nowhere if you ain't been there
Hustle hard yeah this really ain't a game man
Same places, different faces on the train, man
New York, New York
Writer: Jermaine L. Cole, Curtis James Jackson
Copyright: Lyrics © Songs Of Universal Inc.
Back to: J. Cole Lyrics


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