NEW YORK (CONCEPT DE PARIS)

Gil Scott-HeronGil Scott-Heron 

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Gil Scott-Heron

Gilbert "Gil" Scott-Heron (April 1, 1949 – May 27, 2011) was an American soul and jazz poet, musician, and author, known primarily for his work as a spoken word performer in the 1970s and '80s. His collaborative efforts with musician Brian Jackson featured a musical fusion of jazz, blues, and soul, as well as lyrical content concerning social and political issues of the time, delivered in both rapping and melismatic vocal styles by Scott-Heron. His own term for himself was "bluesologist", which he defined as "a scientist who is concerned with the origin of the blues." His music, most notably on Pieces of a Man and Winter in America in the early 1970s, influenced and helped engender later African-American music genres such as hip hop and neo soul. more »

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Yeah

Yeah, I'm out that Brooklyn, now I'm down in Tribeca
Right next to De Niro, but I'll be hood forever
I'm the new Sinatra, and since I made it here
I can make it anywhere, yeah, they love me everywhere 
I used to cop in Harlem, hola, my Dominicanos (dímelo)
Right there up on Broadway, brought me back to that McDonald's
Took it to my stashbox, 560 State Street
Catch me in the kitchen like a Simmons whippin' pastry
Cruisin' down 8th St, off-white Lexus
Drivin' so slow, but BK is from Texas
Me, I'm out that Bed-Stuy, home of that boy Biggie
Now I live on Billboard and I brought my boys with me
Say what up to Ty-Ty, still sippin' Mai Tais
Sittin' courtside, Knicks and Nets give me high five
I be Spike'd out, I could trip a referee
Tell by my attitude that I'm most definitely from

Don't you know, don't you know (ayy)
New York was killing me?
Yes, I was standing nearly dying here
New York was killing me
Seems like I need to start over
And move back home in Jackson, Tennessee
In-in-in-in, in New York

Catch me at the X with OG at a Yankee game
I made the Yankee hat more famous than a Yankee can
You should know I bleed blue, but I ain't a Crip though
But I got a gang of- walkin' with my clique though
Welcome to the melting pot, corners where we sellin' rock
Afrika Bambataa sh-, home of the hip-hop
Yellow cab, gypsy cab, dollar cab, holla back
For foreigners it ain't fair, they act like they forgot how to act
Eight million stories, out there in the naked
City is a pity, half of y'all won't make it
Me, I got a plug, Special Ed, "I Got It Made"
If Jeezy's payin' Lebron, I'm payin' Dwyane Wade
Three dice Cee-lo, three-card Monte
Labor Day Parade, rest in peace Bob Marley
Statue of Liberty, long live the World Trade
Long live the king, yo, I'm from the Empire State that's

Don't you know, don't you know (ayy)
New York was killing me?
Yes, I was standing nearly dying here
New York was killing me (in-in-in-in, in New York)
Seems like I need to start over
And move back home in Jackson, Tennessee

Lights is blinding, girls need blinders
So they can step out of bounds quick, the sidelines is
Lined with casualties, who sip the life casually
Then gradually become worse, don't bite the apple, Eve
Caught up in the in-crowd, now you're in style
Into the winter gets cold, en vogue, with your skin out
City of sin, it's a pity on a whim
Good girls gone bad, the city's filled with them
Mommy took a bus trip, now she got her bust out
Everybody ride her, just like a bus route
"Hail Mary" to the city, you're a virgin
And Jesus can't save you, life starts when the church end
Came here for school, graduated to the high life
Ball players, rap stars, addicted to the limelight
Mdma got you feelin' like a champion
The city never sleeps, better slip you an Ambien

Lord have mercy, mercy on me
Yeah, Lord have mercy, have mercy on me
Tell him to bury my body back home in Jackson, Tennessee
Yeah, Lord have mercy, have mercy on me
In-in-in-in, in New York

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