Çevrimdışı

Night falling, red dawn, without warning or beef
Late night city life, in the dark Manhattan fog, creep
wit' cats and dogs become meat
All that is sacred

My body lay naked
Aching for some weeks, maybe it was a hostage taken
Some money making Jamaican
High for thuggery disgrace on did him ugly, kicked his bloody face in
Maybe he was mistaken for some great man
In a dirty place he lay in a gray basement
Shaking his scabs, crack bag, stabbed up four times, strong!
With a long rusty Jason
Dumped the smoldering corpse in a dumpster truck of garbage
In this mad man hell he laid in
Logical was hatred
Some replacement killer came through, left small traces
Engraved his chest
Left him for death
Left him on his last breath
Crawling, just to make a statement (hu hu huh)
In this matrix
Subconsciously gazing the soft shell of a man
Somehow found, amazing!
By the department of sanitation
Under city lights to the hospital
Hit him with the chest rockers, shockers
Pop him open just to keep his heart racing (Clear)

(Chorus)
Will he make it?
Will he survive?
Terror in his eyes
Night the city cries
Payback is crime
He damn near died
Banished my wounds not mine
The city cries, drama ride
Guns out the window, slide
Before me now the city cries

(U-God)

Unconscious for months (beep beep)
Deep in coma shock
When you awoke, it was hope
Dry throat
Choking off tools, being fed ice cubes
Pain in you head
Change of the bed
Doped up and soaking while police on top
Doctors monitor your heart (heart beating)
Sergeant Bilko came in with some zombie ass cops
What we have here the chief embraces
In his hands he pulls out two briefcases
A picture popped up on computer
One woman, one man, sharpshooter
He asked you do you remember these two faces?
'Mind you you're blind, completely hung out to dry, victimized
Violated as if you was raped
What the hell
You escape well
Police investigated the scene
Scrape the crime scene
Down to the bone panel
While you lay frail in the enamel
Under you nails in the scuffle
You scratched some DNA samples that match
The blood on your clothes are not yours, it was his
Right before you blacked out, took that blow
In September, you can't remember
You ripped his nose ring
Right out his nose
Before he took it four times in the ribs
But somehow he lived
>From the little bit of blood you grabbed
His skin type, you ran it back to forensic labs
Your finger prints popped up
This is where it begins
Your street name was Henry the Saint
Staten Island's where your crib was at
Park Hill project was your outlet
You was a target
Or organized outfit
Not by the mafia, this where it get chills
Your wife hired some hitman to kill you for your ten million dollar will
Money fund drill
Booby trapped perhaps
Left his food for the rats
Now...

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