Flick up your lighters (yeah uh)

Flick up your lighters (yeah yeah yeah come on bottom up yeah)

Flick up your lighters (ay two pac already told you all moron)

Who got beef I'm just here to reinform my sh*t

You know you done did big you done did craig mack

Man you did shyheim (New York New York) you did the kid

That's how we going do it we going this real clever

From the Staten Island connection oh

I'm the twenty first century crisis run with two five to lifers

That buck at bikers get booked on Riker's

I'm the twenty first century crisis I'm a fighter

Flick up your lighters for your ni**a

With bigger website despite us

I'm the twenty first century crisis run with two five to lifers

That buck at bikers get booked on Riker's

Twenty first century crisis I'm a fighter

Flick up your lighters my ni**a

I'm street intelligent

Puffing that drink with Lazanet that get an elephant

Get out of line like them little kid coloring

I body your a** then bury your a** then dig you

Back the f**k up and shoot up your skeletons

For talking all that jazz like you Duke Ellington

I melt your sh*t like when Sundew people with no melennin

Shy the twenty first century crisis spitting sh*t

And piss on rappers like they C.O.'s on Riker's

Death arrive the last face you'll ever see is Shy's

And my hand's wrapped around more necks than Armani ties

Came through in the m five tinted and kitted

The color of spinach with Monica and Mya in it

I inspired The Boy Is Mine Remix

And the begets on my wrists be the size of Cheez It's

I've been getting it ever since I could remember

That's why I post a million dollar bail like Baretta

I crush your mic I crush your mic twice

I move like Saddam I got twenty look a likes

Wear twenty different color Nike's

I'm like Ghost I keep a bird on my arm flooded with ice

I'm the twenty first century crisis run with two five to lifers

That buck at bikers get booked on Riker's

I'm the twenty first century crisis I'm a fighter

Flick up your lighters for your ni**a

With bigger website despite us

I'm the twenty first century crisis run with two five to lifers

That buck at bikers get booked on Riker's

Twenty first century crisis I'm a fighter

Flick up your lighters my ni**a

Yeah flick up your lighters

It's bottom up ni**a

I bust your head open with an forty ounce of old English

Then be thinking to myself I could of should of drinked it

As a man think of inner thoughts

So he in deep inside your pudding you don't want it with kid

Who got it on with the dogs and every jail of my bid

Had a scalpal put up my a** not on no faggot sh*t

Twenty one guns a year that's what my average is

And I am not going quit until you get my enemies

The what out the whip I'm the dude that they love to hate

Hate that they love with too much street drama

To be in somebody's club so I'm cautious

Cause I know sh*t that get funky just like horse sh*t

Like I could be dead or in jail by the morning

All everybody else'll be doing is talking

About the unfortunate let a couple years fly by

Everybody forget it's like you gone in the wind

You going to the pen but you all don't hear me though

Let me say the sh*t again like you gone in the wind

You going to the pen twenty years will make a friend

One day to lose a friend that's why I speak less and listen more

I'm the twenty first century crisis run with two five to lifers

That buck at bikers get booked on Riker's

I'm the twenty first century crisis I'm a fighter

Flick up your lighters for your ni**a

With bigger website despite us

I'm the twenty first century crisis run with two five to lifers

That buck at bikers get booked on Riker's

Twenty first century crisis I'm a fighter

Flick up your lighters my ni**a

Flick up your lighters flick up your lighters

I'm the twenty first century crisis and that means

Man I'm bringing it back to New York

Staten Island New York (put ten years on this beat)

Brooklyn queens the bronx manhattan uptown (cock that sh*t)

You know taking my early days let's take this sh*t back

New York New York that's where I'm from