Artist: Chi-King f/ Timmy M.C.
Album:  Rollin' Aces: Chamber of the Lost Child
Song:   New York to West Coast
Typed by: Cno Evil

[Chi-King]
You see me? I'mma get rich and die trying
You? Gon' scream like a bitch and die crying
I'm sick how I cut through the wind with the nine iron
And drop your ass quick like Puff did Dylon
You'se a dumb fuck, yo I hit you with a dump truck
Testing your dumb luck, you get numbed up
Chains hit like numbchucks, you get done up
It's the God hour, seven o'clock, the sun's up
Yo, I think big, get big, spark shit, dead shit
Try shit, wet shit, cock back and let the lead spit
So peep the next to hold us down
Nam's already low this down
I ain't Popeye but your girl still blow me down
Speed me up or slow me down
I myself, gon' hold me down
Brooklyn, stand up, yo, we holding it down
Hip hop, bring it back, right now, like

[Chorus: Chi-King]
Brooklyn, Queens, Manhattan, Staten
Strong Island, known to get it cracking
New York, New York, New York, New York, New York
New York, New York, New York, New York, New York
Brooklyn, Queens, Manhattan, Staten
Bronx, Strong Island, get it cracking
New York, New York, New York, New York, New York
New York, New York, New York, New York, New York

[Timmy M.C.]
Yeah, L.A. gear, better be in all black
It fact, you better have some packed
You better act like you know where you at
You better watch the colors of your shirt, shoestrings
And your hat, if you ain't got a strap, you better carry something
Like a bat, something just to keep 'em back
Better be quick, fast, something like a running back
Can't get locked up, nah, you ain't wanting that
You heard of ran part, tell ya whole fam apart
This lost scan, the smooth, I told Chi and Razul
To let me handle this, Mickey Mantle this
I dismantle this, yeah, I call a game like an analysis
Timmy mack ya dame after one night of this cannabus
Got it popping like the Crystal, I'm bout to handle miss
Play around on your dude, all they say is that your man a bitch
Yeah, your a man, a bitch
He a hater, better dump him 'fore somebod dump him later
For a hunk of paper, for a stack of change
For them 22's, plus I aim right at your range
Got our fingers twisted in the middle, tell 'em what we claim

[Chorus: Timmy M.C.]
Compton, Watts, Inglewood, L.B.
South Central, known to get it cracking
L.A., L.A., L.A., L.A., L.A.
L.A., L.A., L.A., L.A., L.A.
Compton, Watts, Inglewood, L.B.
South Central, yeah, known to get it cracking
L.A., L.A., L.A., L.A., L.A.
L.A., L.A., L.A., L.A., L.A.