Grand Central

If you knew my streets
You would know all everybody talk about is who got beef
Who snitchin, who told police
Who came home, who still gone, who restin in peace
Now they killin over music money, not drugs, rap replaced it
Cause thugs with no brains got no patience
New jacks I pistol whip 'em with the funky rhythm I be kickin
Musician and flatten composition
A pain, I'm like Saddam Hussein
Still alive lookin at his dead children's burnt remains
I burnt the game, learnt you lames a new lesson
Your crew's soft man, ya'll need some new weapons
The P's breathe Warriorz and skullies and Timmies
Around mixed, spics, niggaz and giddies
From my ghetto kings in deep thought we don't blink
But don't think we wastin our time
It's a New York State of Mind

-Alicia Keys
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