| Song | Now Y |
| Artist | LA the Darkman |
| Album | Heist of the Century |
| 作曲 : BJackson, Broady, Jackson | |
| Yeah. Yeah. | |
| Yo. Yo. Yo. | |
| Trapacanti. | |
| Yo. [Chorus: La The Darkman] | |
| When I walk these streets, like bamboo, | |
| I'm strapped | |
| Get your brain tapped by fourty-four caliber gats | |
| It ain't like that, cats gotta learn to relax | |
| If I let the gun clap, you have no wish, you're on your ass [La The Darkman] | |
| If you see at cat without his vest hangin by his neck | |
| Then La done it, | |
| I'm tryin to see this benz six-hundred | |
| With a fly bitch, a gat and cognac gettin blunted | |
| Readin the tablet of my money from the kids that | |
| I fronted | |
| You don't want it, shootin slugs outta an armored green lex > | |
| From four pounds that fuck you up like a plane wreck | |
| Don't gamble with a tech, car is quicker than the eye | |
| My style, top secret like a | |
| Bosnian spy | |
| Now Y, New | |
| York have you laced in chalk | |
| The South | |
| Bronx, what you thought when we let are guns talk? | |
| It's bloodsport, the | |
| Darkman call it like he sees | |
| Been in buildings, doin eighty in a black m3 | |
| Medallion swingin a linx, costin bount ten g's | |
| N.Y.C., where killas bust cops at me [Chorus] [La The Darkman] | |
| New York ain't fuckin playas, we live gun sprayers | |
| Movin crack frm the streets of | |
| Manhatt' to the | |
| Himalayans | |
| Amadeus, why these | |
| Cali craps tryin to front? | |
| Ass gotta cut ropes, tryin to bungee jump | |
| Tight cunt, all white planes roll, we night creepers in bubble coats, eight hundred beapers, force one sneakers | |
| I stay fly, holdin it down for my block | |
| What up ock? | |
| You could get a four-four shot | |
| And don't think it can't happen cuz you on the | |
| T.V. rappin | |
| I sneakin from | |
| B.X., B.K. and the | |
| Staten Manhatten and | |
| Queens jookin kids for rings | |
| New York, | |
| New York, the big city of dreams | |
| Some rap legends were put in jail, you thought we failed | |
| Now I'm back like | |
| LL, when he was rockin the bells | |
| Takin rap back to the days of foodstamps and tramps | |
| Pit stains in the stair case and vise-grip clamps | |
| Kid, I'm amped, cats try to diss the originators | |
| In Land Cruisers, on | |
| Timbs, subways and elevators | |
| Holdin steel, you frontin niggaz better get real | |
| I'm gettin money, blow my nose with a hundred dollar bill | |
| How you feel? | |
| And fuck where you at, it's where you from | |
| To that cats, that's eighty-five: blind, deaf and dumb | |
| Run and get your gun, | |
| I come in the name of | |
| Allah To my people, the | |
| Inglewood family swine, power refined | |
| You can't see, we runnin outta time | |
| If the east and west kill eachother, who gon' shine? | |
| We losin our mind, the rap shit is turnin into crime | |
| Nowadays soft niggaz bust techs and nines | |
| So, what? |
| zuò qǔ : BJackson, Broady, Jackson | |
| Yeah. Yeah. | |
| Yo. Yo. Yo. | |
| Trapacanti. | |
| Yo. Chorus: La The Darkman | |
| When I walk these streets, like bamboo, | |
| I' m strapped | |
| Get your brain tapped by fourtyfour caliber gats | |
| It ain' t like that, cats gotta learn to relax | |
| If I let the gun clap, you have no wish, you' re on your ass La The Darkman | |
| If you see at cat without his vest hangin by his neck | |
| Then La done it, | |
| I' m tryin to see this benz sixhundred | |
| With a fly bitch, a gat and cognac gettin blunted | |
| Readin the tablet of my money from the kids that | |
| I fronted | |
| You don' t want it, shootin slugs outta an armored green lex | |
| From four pounds that fuck you up like a plane wreck | |
| Don' t gamble with a tech, car is quicker than the eye | |
| My style, top secret like a | |
| Bosnian spy | |
| Now Y, New | |
| York have you laced in chalk | |
| The South | |
| Bronx, what you thought when we let are guns talk? | |
| It' s bloodsport, the | |
| Darkman call it like he sees | |
| Been in buildings, doin eighty in a black m3 | |
| Medallion swingin a linx, costin bount ten g' s | |
| N. Y. C., where killas bust cops at me Chorus La The Darkman | |
| New York ain' t fuckin playas, we live gun sprayers | |
| Movin crack frm the streets of | |
| Manhatt' to the | |
| Himalayans | |
| Amadeus, why these | |
| Cali craps tryin to front? | |
| Ass gotta cut ropes, tryin to bungee jump | |
| Tight cunt, all white planes roll, we night creepers in bubble coats, eight hundred beapers, force one sneakers | |
| I stay fly, holdin it down for my block | |
| What up ock? | |
| You could get a fourfour shot | |
| And don' t think it can' t happen cuz you on the | |
| T. V. rappin | |
| I sneakin from | |
| B. X., B. K. and the | |
| Staten Manhatten and | |
| Queens jookin kids for rings | |
| New York, | |
| New York, the big city of dreams | |
| Some rap legends were put in jail, you thought we failed | |
| Now I' m back like | |
| LL, when he was rockin the bells | |
| Takin rap back to the days of foodstamps and tramps | |
| Pit stains in the stair case and visegrip clamps | |
| Kid, I' m amped, cats try to diss the originators | |
| In Land Cruisers, on | |
| Timbs, subways and elevators | |
| Holdin steel, you frontin niggaz better get real | |
| I' m gettin money, blow my nose with a hundred dollar bill | |
| How you feel? | |
| And fuck where you at, it' s where you from | |
| To that cats, that' s eightyfive: blind, deaf and dumb | |
| Run and get your gun, | |
| I come in the name of | |
| Allah To my people, the | |
| Inglewood family swine, power refined | |
| You can' t see, we runnin outta time | |
| If the east and west kill eachother, who gon' shine? | |
| We losin our mind, the rap shit is turnin into crime | |
| Nowadays soft niggaz bust techs and nines | |
| So, what? |