Homies in the Hood (the Fire Next Time)

Bed Study let it fly y'all      
Bed Study, time to die y'all      
     
My shorty be trippin flipping chewin my ass      
She foxy as brown but when she drink Henny (I dig Remy) she come with      
forty bottle blast straight at my head      
say, nigga you better dead. She thinkin      
I be steppin out ballin her homie Joannie      
cause she be fly gimme choco weed      
wanna get high      
     
So I go down to Bed Stuy street and first      
nigga I peep be slick Fat Pete with boombox blasting Coltrane. He carry umbrella but there no rain as Trane blows interstellar space save human race      
     
Bed Stuy let it fly y'all      
Bed Stuy time to die y'all    
     
Next up be freakin Freaky Deke from K2      
fishscale cocaine brain rot still I dig  
what he be sayin five 'center jive  
he got from bowtie wearin Atlantic  
readin Brother Muzone most dangerous thing in Amerika be nigga with library card      
     
But with Muzone you best not trifle or he blast yo dome with sawed off rifle. He brought in from Bal'mer eastside to settle      
beef with East New York crips so blood      
flow like my rhymes and bodies fall      
for Brother only true brother be Nation      
cats only they stand tall      
 
Bed Stuy let it fly y'all
Bed Stuy time to die y'all
   
Corner boy Bell sling whatever fiends crave  
half his kin be buried in grave. Get that COVID crush here get that WMD. Nigga whatchu doin lookin all nappy strung out  
get outta my face fo I beats yo ass.  
 
Now Bell kicks up to Crazy Leroy got his name from time he clear corner Bway and Myrtle with AK one hand try deuce the  
other and trail behind be his pet turtle.  
Here come 5-0 push all against wall  
'cept Leroy don't sit just stare and spit  
 
Above it all sit Queen Jones on green  
throne situated insulated from ghetto  
shit. She run with glorious Notorious  
who almost legit with city pols Jew  
lawyers property cats he got connect  
 
In the center of it all sit graybeards on      
lawn chairs they not cut with blade but with      
yo mama doin dozens one up straight up      
vicious word play. They guzzle they forties      
no one wiser they go back Last Poets, Aretha, JB for all to see bad funk make them thunder rise like my joint when thick Joannie's phat ass I plunder      
     
All this shit make my block thunder before      
fire next time make whole racist USA go up      
in flame better heed what we be sayin.