New York's Not My Home

(álbum: Grits Sandwiches For Breakfast - 1990)

Burning
Oh no, oh no, here we go now
Oh no, oh no, here we go now
Oh no, oh no, here we go now
Oh no [?]

Went to New York to cut my first LP
Riding down Broadway in a taxi
Hang a right at 25th
Just a little too swift, jo
Let me out, I'm gonna walk from here on
Here's four bucks you drive like a moron
Lost in the apple and I'm all alone

'Cause New York's not my home

In the village just illing with a forty in a brown bag
I'm seeing freaks, and also fags
I see a set of nice legs within in my site
But it's a fucking transvestite
Walking in the daylight
Now I'm tripping and I'm like blown
But I take another sip and say to each his own
He'd get dissed in Detroit, but I'll leave him alone

'Cause New York's not my home

Now if your sounds are knocking to the cool Kid Rocking
Has got your girl jocking
Take a chill pill young man, close your flap
'Cause like the Piston Joe, I'm going back to back
With a track, uh, that's just too clean
I got my pistol packed and a fifth of Jim Beam
Only 19, and my name ain't Wilbur
But I pull more hoes than Long Jon Silver
I don't dress up, or try to look pretty
Instead I rock the house in every major city
From the tip of Maine to the coast of Cali
I get down and I yodle in the valley
Can't say I'm from the Bronx or Brook-land zones

'Cause New York's not my home

Eight ave in the 40 deuce, it's like a freak show
A lot of hookers try to pop that weak, so
I walk with a limp when I pimp through
Or co-mack those hoes if I'm illing with the Beast Crew
It's picking up, I'll check this fact
These motherfuckers pay over 2.50 for a Big Mac
Con-jested, overcrowded, cya I'm gone

'Cause New York's not my home