Yes
This
Is
The
Place
20 year-old graffiti glows in the dark tunnel from the bright headlights
Like some strange hieroglyphics with secrets of a great fallen kingdom’s past life
Yes
This
Is
The
Place
Pools of straphangers pour into the cramped IRT express train
Rushing for an hour
Sullen faces, some expressionless
Knotted ties in pressed collars
Stretch their scarf-cloaked necks towards the white florescent lights
Trying not to drown in the sea of perpendicular limbs
People push and crimp hands into pockets
To protect their dead presidents and wallets
>From pickpockets
This iron rocket is filled to the rim
Some slim young cat
In a New Yawk Yankees World Series fitted ball cap blast
Hits from the past of Chris Wallace
Yes
This
Is
The
Place
Where I want to hear my last rights
Before I exit the proverbial sliding doors
And rise to celestial heights
Hits from Chris Wallace
"JUICY!"
Hits from Chris Wallace
"One More Chance"
Hits from Chris Wallace
"Hypnotize"
Hits from the past of Chris Wallace
This city is Godless
Or at least that’s what most cynics would like we to think
That somehow I was born in a sea eye tea why that rest in the belly of the beast
On the brink
We rock violently back and forth and screech through tunnels effortlessly
In steel links
Moving past hidden streets at lightning speeds
Daily News tabloid provides the morning read
Scents of coffee in paper cups some stuff bagels with cream cheese
On the go, go, go! Even how we eat
People make asynchronous orbits around ME
Yes
This
Is
The
Place
Where
I
Need
To
Be
Sometimes I have to nudge a muthafucka
Just so he knows to respect my space
Some apologize
That’s my bubble…You lookin’ for trouble
Others look quick across my territorial face
Chicks armed with key-chains and mace, no smile
We don’t do that here
Speak when spoken to
And seldom we care
Eye contact is like a signed contract to reach in pockets and pull out change
Sprinkle lose coins into some homeless guys hat
He’s moved on
But his stench still remains
Home of the 2-foot rat
That frequents the never-ending city tracks
This is the place where air quality already lacks
We ain’t scared of no stinkin’ Anthrax!
Nine Eleven we saw this city maimed
I can’t front, I still duck when I hear approaching airplanes
20 year-old graffiti glows in the dark tunnel from the bright headlights
Like some strange hieroglyphics with secrets of a great fallen kingdom’s past life
Yes
This
Is
The
Place
Where I want to hear my last rights
Before I exit the proverbial sliding doors
And rise to celestial heights
Yes
This
Is
The
Place
Where I want to hear my last rights
Before I exit the proverbial sliding doors
And rise to celestial heights
|
