streets of new york

In the streets of new york
Dope fiends are leaning from morphine
The tv screen followed the homicide scenes
You live here, you’re taking a chance
So look and I take one glance, there’s a man inside an ambulance
Crowds are getting louder, I wonder how the
People want to go fight for the white powder
People hanging in spots
They waited until the blocks got hot
And got raided by the cops
I’ll explain the man sleeping in the rain
His whole life remains inside a bottle of night train
Another man got his clothes in a sack
Cause he spent every dime of his rent playing blackjack
And there’s the poor little sister
She has a little baby daughter
Named sonja and sonja has pneumonia
So why’s her mother in a club unzipped though?
Yo that’s her job, sonya’s mommy is a bar stripper
Drug dealers drive around looking hard
Knowing they’re sending their brothers and sisters to the graveyard
Every day is a main event, some old lady limps
The pushers and pimps eat shrimps
It gets tiring, the sight of a gun firing
They must desire for the sound of a siren
A bag lady dies in an alleyway
She’s seen the last of her days inside the subways
More and more down the slope, the kid couldn’t cope
So he stole somebody’s dope and a gold rope
Now my son’s on the run, he’s a wanted one
Had fun then was done by a shotgun
Upstairs I cover my ears in tears
The man downstairs must've drank too many beers
Cause every day of his life he beats his wife
Till one night she decides to pull a butcher knife
Blind man plays the sax
A tune called “the arms on my moms show railroad tracks"

many lives are cut short That’s when you’re living
In the streets of new york

Baby needs new shoes
But his papa uses all the money for booze
A young girl is undressed in the back seat of a caddy
Calling some man daddy
Three men slain inside an apartment
All you could see was the sparks when it darkened
Daylight broke, cops roll on the scene
The drug war, daily routine
Gambling spots, just a poor man’s jackpot
You winning a lot, you get shot
The drug dealing fanatics
But you don’t want no static
Cause they got crack addicts with automatics
Shoot-outs for a desire for territory
A kid got caught in the crossfire
A tired mother can’t take no more
She grabbed the bottle full of sleeping pills and took about 24
Human beings are laying on the pavement
Cause they’re a part of the mental enslavement
The cop snipers, little babies in dirty diapers
This type of life is making you hyper
People scouting a torched-out building
And got killed when the cold air filled in
Is hell really suggested?
No more persons arrested, a child molested
A little kid says, yo
I got a color tv, cd player and car stereo
And all I want is a capsule
I also got a .38, don’t give me no hassle
One kid heads straight for the top
And gets stopped and popped by a crooked cop

(because of the [in bold] lyrics, this album was banned from selling)
Look behind you when you walk
That’s how it is in the streets of new york

kool g rap - streets of new york
1.

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how to survive in south central

How to survive in South Central (what you do?)
A place where bustin a cap is fundamental
No, you can't find the shit in a handbook
Take a close look, at a rap crook
Rule number one: get yourself a gun
A nine in your ass'll be fine
Keep it in your glove comparment
cause jackers (yo) they love to start shit
Now if you're white you can trust the police
but if you're black they ain't nothin but beasts
Watch out for the kill Don't make a false move
and keep your hands on the steering wheel
and don't get smart Answer all questions,
and that's your first lesson on stayin alive
In South Central, yeah, that's how you survive

Rule number two: don't trust nobody
especially a bitch, with a hooker's body
cause it ain't nuttin but a trap
And females'll get jacked and kidnapped
You'll wind up dead
Just to be safe don't wear no blue or red
cause most niggaz get got
in either L.A., Compton or Watts
Pissed-off black human beings
So I think you better skip the sight-seeing
And if you're nuttin but a mark
make sure that you're in before dark
But if you need some affection mate
Make sure the bitch ain't a section eight
cause if so that's a monkey-wrench hoe
and you won't survive in South Central

Rule number three: don't get caught up
Cause niggaz are doing anything that's thought up
And they got a vice
on everything from dope, to stolen merchandise
We discern
cause South Central L.A., is one big yearn
Waitin for a brother like you to catch a disease
and start slangin ki's
to an undercover or the wrong brother
And they'll smother, a out of town motherfucker
So don't take your life for granted
cause it's the craziest place on the planet
In L.A. heroes don't fly through the sky of stars
they live behind bars
So everybody's doin a little dirt
And it's the youngsters puttin in the most work
So be alert and stay calm
as you enter, the concrete Vietnam
You say, the strong survive
Shit, the strong even die, in South Central

hear here >>> ice cube - how to survive in south central (la)
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my philosophy

ok ok ok ok, this is hands down one of drey's favorite joints.
(see how relevant the lyrics are even today?) "Some mcs be talkin and talkin
Tryin to show how black people are walkin
But I dont walk this way to portray
Or reinforce stereotypes of today
Like all my brothas eat chicken and watermelon
Talk broken english and drug sellin
See Im tellin, and teaching real facts
The way some act in rap is kind of wack
And it lacks creativity and intelligence
But they dont care cause the company is sellin it
Its my philosophy, on the industry ... "

Let us begin, what, where, why, or when
Will all be explained like instructions to a game
See Im not insane, in fact, Im kind of rational
When I be asking you, who is more dramatical?
This one or that one, the white one or the black one
Pick the punk, and Ill jump up to attack one
Krs-one is just the guy to lead a crew
Right up to your face and dis you
Everyone saw me on the last album cover
Holding a pistol something far from a lover
Beside my brother, s-c-o-t-t
I just laugh, cause no one can defeat me
This is lecture number two, my philosophy
Number one, was poetry you know its me
This is my philosophy, many artists got to learn
Im not flammable, I dont burn
So please stop burnin, and learn to earn respect
cause thats just what k-r collects
See, what do you expect when you rhyme like a soft punk
You walk down the street and get jumped
You got to have style, and learn to be original
And everybodys gonna wanna dis you
Like me, we stood up for the south bronx
And every sucka mc had a response
You think we care? I know that they are on the tip
My posse from the bronx is thick
And were real live, we walk correctly
A lot of suckas would like to forget me
But they cant, cause like a champ
I have got a record of knocking out the frauds in a second
On the mic, I believe that you should get loose
I havent come to tell you I got juice
I just produce, create, innovate on a higher level
Ill be back, but for now just seckle!

Ill play the nine and you play the target
You all know my name so I guess Ill just start it
Or should I say, start this, I am an artist
Of new concepts at their hardest (?)
Cause, yo, Im a teacher and Sott is a scholar
It aint about money cause we all make dollars
Thats why i walk with my head up
When I hear wack rhymes I get fed up
Rap is like a set-up, a lot of games
A lot of suckas with colorful names
Im so-and-so, Im this, Im that
Huh, but they're all just wick-wick-wack
Im not white or red or black
Im brown.. from the boogie down
Productions, of course our music be thumpin
Others say their bad, but theyre buggin
Let me tell you somethin now about hip hop
About d-nice, melodie, and scott la rock
Ill get a pen, a pencil, a marker
Mainly what I write is for the average new yorker
Some mcs be talkin and talkin
Tryin to show how black people are walkin
But I dont walk this way to portray
Or reinforce stereotypes of today
Like all my brothas eat chicken and watermelon
Talk broken english and drug sellin
See Im tellin, and teaching real facts
The way some act in rap is kind of wack
And it lacks creativity and intelligence
But they dont care cause the company is sellin it
Its my philosophy, on the industry
Dont bother dissin me, or even wish that we
Soften, dilute, or commercialize all our lyrics
Cause its about time one of yall hear it
And hear it first-hand from the intelligent brown man
A vegetarian, no goat or ham
Or chicken or turkey or hamburger
cause to me thats suicide - self murder
Let us get back to what we call hip hop
And what it meant to dj scott la rock...

How many mcs must get dissed
Before somebody says, dont f*** with kris!
This is just one style, out of many
Like a piggy bank, this is one penny
My brothers name is kenny - thats, kenny parker
My other brother i.c.u. is much darker
Boogie Down Productions is made up of teachers
The lecture is conducted from the mic into the speaker
Who gets weaker? the king or the teacher
Its not about a salary its all about reality
Teachers teach and do the world good
Kings just rule and most are never understood
If you were to rule or govern a certain industry
All inside this room right now would be in misery
No one would get along nor sing a song
cause everyoned be singing for the king, am I wrong? !
So yo, whats up, its me again
Scott la rock, krs, bdp again
Many people had the nerve to think we would end the trend
With Criminal Minded , an album which is only ten
Funky, funky, funky, funky, funky hit records
No more than four minutes and some seconds
The competition checks and checks and keeps checkin
They buy the album, take it home, and start sweatin
Why? well its simple, to them its kind of vital
To take krs-ones title
To them Im like an idol, some type of entity
In everybodys rhyme they wanna mention me?
Or rather mention us, me or scott la rock
But they can get bust get robbed, get dropped
I dont play around nor do I eff around
And you can tell by the bodies that are left around
When some clown jumps up to get beatdown
Broken down to his very last compound
See how it sounds? a little unrational
A lot of mcs like to use the word dramatical!
Fresh for 88, you suckas...

hear here: krs-1 (bdp) - my philosophy & video

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classic hip hop albums

remember when the source mag was "the hip hop bible"?
remember when the source mag had more ads than features?
remember when the source mag got biased & opinionated?
remember when the source mag lost all credibility?
remember when the source mag went r.i.p.?
ahhhh, the good ol' daze.
*legend has it that drey used to smoke & talk nothing but hip hop
with his source in his back pocket...always.
hip hop heads on the east can agree on 70% of classic albums.
ra, pe, kane, atcq, de la, nas, jay, main source, etc...all hold a spot
on the list for us along with dre, snoop & cube on da left side of things.
if you're new or not too familiar with quality, heartfelt, treasured,
innovative, creative hip hop, this may be the list(s) of albums to
*drey clears throat* get.
lotta golden era releases here. for those puzzled about the
"hip hop is dead" saying, just take notice of the era(years) most
classics were released...see if you can spot the
golden era posts on this blog (dreysay2).

see list here at rateyourmusic.com
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