Текст песни Mos Def - Brooklyn

[Verse 1:]Hey! Hey! Ha, ha, say, what, say, what!Ha, ha, bust it, yo!Sometimes I feel like I don't have a partner,Sometimes I feel like my only friendIs the city I live in, is beautiful Brooklyn,Long as I live here believe I'm on fire, hey!‘Cause it's the B-the-R-the-O-the-O-K-L-Y-N, is the place where I stay,The B-the-R-the-O-the-O-K, best in the world and all USA.It's the B-to-the-R-the-O-the-O-K-L-Y-N, is the place where I stay,The B-to-the-R-the-O-the-O-K, place where I rest is on my born day.Bust it! Sometimes I sit back and just reflect,Watch the world go by and my thought connect,I think about the time past and the time to come,Reminisce on Bed Stuy when I was pride and young.I used to try and come, to the neighborhood function,Throw on my Izod, say a little something,When I was just a youngin', before the days of thuggin',How me and Charlie Chims, I'm only buggin'.Fast forward, nine now, I gotta team my seed,I must proceed at God's speed to perform my deed.Livin' the now space and time, round the nine to five,For as long as I'm alive, paw I got to strive.I ain't sittin' roadside, that ain't part of the plan,I'm out here for my fam doin' all that I can.I love my city, sweet and gritty in land to outskirts,Nickname Bucktown ‘cause we prone to outburst,Philosophy redefine us, touch mines, I touch back.Walk the streets like a sweet and get beat like drum tracks,Catch no shakes over jakes, we bust back,Bring the marty to your face wit' no place to run back.I'm from the slums that created the bass that thump back,This ain't a game clown, play ya James Brown and jump back.What you want, Jack? Young cats stash they jums at,Draw they guns back, momma screams where she sons at.Tryin' to hunt that, recurrin' dream of high stakes,The fourth largest, first hardest, Brooklyn is the place,Settled by the Dutch many years ago,Three million strong and here we go![Verse 2:]Gooood morning, Vietnam!Yo! Sometimes I sit back, reflect on the place that I live atUnlike any place I ever been at,The home of big gats, deep dish hammer rim caps,Have a mishap, push your wig back.Where you go to get the fresh trim at?Four on the jake, got the Timb rack,Blue collars metro cardin' it,Thugs mobbin' it, form partnership,Increase armament, street pharmacist,Deep consequence, when you seek sleek ornamentsYou get caught; rode the white horse and can't get off.Big dogs that trick off just get sent off,

They shoebox stash is all they seeds gotta live off.It's real, yo, but still, yo, it's love here,And it's felt by anybody that come here.Out of towners take the train, plane and bus here,Must be something that they really want here.One year as a resident, deeper sentiment,Shout out “go Brooklyn!” They representin' it,Sittin' on their front stoop sippin' “Guinness”,Usin' native dialect in they sentences.From the treeline blocks to the tenements,To the Mom and Pop local shop businesses,Travel all around the world in great distancesAnd ain't a place that I know that bear resemblance,That's why we call it The Planet.Not a borough or a prov, it's our style, that's uncommon,From Sumner to Tompkins to Lafayette Gardens,Wyckoff, Gowanus in their army jacket lining.Yo, this goes out to my cats in Coney Isle,Friday night out in front The Himalaya goin' wild.This goes out to Crown Heights and Smurf Village,The 90's, and all my yarda trini Brown's Village,Parkside tennis courts, thirties, forties, and the fifties,The cats out in Starrett City gettin' busy.To the Hook, to the East, to the Stuy,Bushwick and Canarsie,Farragut, Fort Greene, and Marcy,My Flatbush posse, generals of armies,When it's time to form, just call me.And let this song be, playin' loud in Long B,If you love Bucktown strongly,Raise it up![Verse 3:]Brooklyn my habitat, the place where it happen at,Live sway and the sharp balance of the battle axe,Irons is brandished at, thugs draw they hammer back.It's where you find the News Two crew cameras at,It's where my fam is at, summertime jam is at.They play Big and get you open like a sandal back,Hotter than candle wax, hustlin' you can't relax.The crack babies tryin' to find where they mama's at,It's off the handle black, with big police scandals thatTurn into actions screenplays sold to Miramax.The type of place where they check your appearance at,And cats who know where all the hot low gear is at.The stompin' grounds, where you find a pound of smoke is at,Be blazin', John, that have your wave cap floatin' back.The doorstep where the dispossessed posted at,Dope fiends out at Franklin Ave sellin' Zovirax.You big ballin', better keep your money folded back,‘Cause once the young guns notice that it's over, black.Brooklyn keep on takin' it, worldwide we known for that,Flossy cats get it snatched like the local tax,The place I sharpen up my baritone vocals at,Where one of the greatest MC's was a local cat.
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