Lyrical Breakdown of Memory Lane (Sittin' in da Park) feat. National Symphony Orchestra - Live - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Aight, fuck that shit! Word, word

Fuck that other shit, y'know what I'm sayin'?

We gonna do a lil somethin' like this

Y'know what I'm sayin'?

(Y'all doing that other shit)

Keep it on and on and on and on and

Know'm sayin'? Big Nas, Grand Wizard, what is it?

(It's like...) Haha, you know what I'm sayin'?

Yo, go ahead and rip that shit, dun!

I rap for listeners, bluntheads, fly ladies, and prisoners

Henessey-holders and old-school niggas, then I be dissin' a

Unofficial that smoke Woolie Thai

I dropped out of Cooley High

Gassed up by a cokehead cutie pie

Jungle survivor, fuck who's the live-er

My man put the battery in my back, a difference from Energizer

Sentence begins indented with formality

My duration's infinite, moneywise or physiology

Poetry, that's a part of me, retardedly bop

I drop the ancient manifested hip-hop straight off the block

I reminisce on park jams, my man was shot for his sheep coat

Chocolate blunts make me see him drop in my weed smoke

It's real, grew up in trife life, did times or white lines

The hype pipes, murderous nighttimes

And knife fights and blight crimes

Chill on the block with Cognac, hold strap

With my peeps that's into drug money market interact

No sign of the beast in the blue Chrysler

I guess that means peace

For niggas, no sheisty vice to just snipe ya

Start off the dice-rollin' mats for craps to cee-lo

With side-bets, I roll a deuce, nothin' below

(Peace God!) Peace God – now the shit is explained

I'm takin' niggas on a trip straight through memory lane

It's like that, y'all

"Now let me take a trip down memory lane"

"Comin' outta Queensbridge"

One for the money, two for pussy and foreign cars

Three for Alizé, niggas deceased or behind bars

I rap divine, God, check the prognosis: is it real or showbiz?

My window faces shootouts, drug overdoses

Live amongst no roses, only the drama

For real, a nickel-plate is my fate, my medicine is the ganja

Here's my basis, my razor embraces, many faces

You're telephone blown, black, stitches or fat shoelaces

Peoples are petro, dramatic automatic .44 I let blow

And back down po-po when I'm vexed so

My pen taps the paper, then my brain's blank

I see dark streets, hustlin' brothers who keep the same rank

Pumpin' for somethin', some'll prosper, some fail

Judges hangin' niggas, uncorrect bails for direct sales

My intellect prevails from a hangin' cross with nails

I reinforce the frail, with lyrics that's real

Word to Christ, a disciple of streets, trifle on beats

I decipher prophecies through a mic and say "peace"

I hung around the older crews

While they sling smack to dingbats

They spoke of Fat Cat; that nigga's name made bell rings, black

Some fiends scream about Supreme Team, a Jamaica Queens thing

Uptown was Alpo, son, heard he was kingpin

Yo, fuck, rap is real!

Watch the herbs stand still

Never talkin' to snakes, 'cause the words of man kill

True in the game, as long as blood is blue in my veins

I pour my Heineken brew to my deceased crew on memory lane

"Now let me take a trip down memory lane"

"Comin' outta Queensbridge"

"Now let me take a trip down memory lane"

"Comin' outta Queensbridge"

"Comin' out of Queensbridge"

"The most dangerous MC is..."

"Comin' out of Queensbridge"

"The most dangerous MC is..."

"Comin' out of Queensbridge"

"The most dangerous MC is..."

"Comin' out of Queensbridge"

"The most dangerous MC is..."

"Me number one, and you know where me from"