Artist: Troy Ave f/ King Sevin Album: New York City Song: Cigar Smoke Typed by: Gemini_20502K@Yahoo.com, kirenamloh@msn.com [Intro: Troy Ave] Uh huh! Just let the pain out Baby! Oh! When I'm in it she scream my name out T-R-O-Y-A-V-E One two a one two BSB shit! Brooklyn! Real life! [Verse One: Troy Ave] I got this burnin desire to be better than most It's probably the main reason I'm on the come up like smokes See me in magazines, modellin for liquor with smoke But I keep a magazine, confuse that pretty shit and get smoked I'm not the one to provoke, I don't make sense I just reach Was given the world by my moms, still I took to the streets When heartbeats get shorten, the main focus is ballin How many gambles with life? And everytime I was all in My style was never determined by mics in +The Source+ Been fly since dollar fries with ketchup and hot sauce I use to cut my wings up, then I fucked my dreams up No NFL why impale still cuttin wings up Bird ass niggas there's no relation I could not consider you real if you ever was hatin, unless your teams playin You might call LeBron a bum but you ain't really mean it You just mad 'cause he drive forty on Brooklyn and I seen it And felt the same way Once I got up out my feelings still had to sling 'ye them sweets ain't cheap Win or lose still struggle, Mickey Mantle don't love you So I fish taled out The Bronx, with fishscale for my hustle Motherfuckers!!!!! [Interlude: Troy Ave] Let the pain out, when I'm in it she screams my name out T-R-O-Y-A-V-E BSB Shit! Brooklyn! [Verse Two: King Sevin] Aiyyo! This my New York life Gettin money underneath the city lights I put food on that table, every motherfuckin night They say you livin fast, you eventually die slow It don't matter when you get it in bulk like CostCo Ain't takin no losses, I creep on them blocks slow Any type of sudden movement, I'm lettin them shots go At these fake real niggaz, I don't play 'em fair Cause they been there since before I had facial hair I ride thru, and all I get is facial stares Let a nigga try it, he gon' have to get his face repaired Yeah~! That's how a nigga on it Ask me what it's lookin like, I'ma tell you I can't call it No, I ain't livin right so I say my prayers er'ry morning Thankin God for this fly shit a nigga be affordin In it for the moment, sucka free and stayin humble When you out here in this concrete jungle, word up! [Verse Three: Troy Ave] Let the pain out, when I'm in it she screams my name out BSB Records, the future is here I'm the only nigga not spittin chuck shit in your ear You could verify all my raps, double check and be clear Do you really tote all them gats and deal cracks? Hell yeah! Don't forget 'bout my women, they all fine and on deck I only drink Cristal, or Imperial Moet No more week ass Rose, that's why the game's too sweet We don't wear tight ass clothes, we don't do Down South beats That ain't New York, I restore our identification 'Cause dick ridin never been a form of transportation That ain't New York, I restore our identification 'Cause dick ridin never been a form of transportation Motherfuckers!