[Chorus 2X: Dom Pachino]
My raps, my raps, my raps
How can I bring New York back, when I never left

[Dom Pachino]
Aiyo, my raps make gats come out them hosters, these rats come out like roaches
These cats, attack like vultures, ease back and catch a focus
These macks, and knives and toasters, these streets, are roller coasters
These beats, are heat straight off the roaster, catch me on your poster
Promoting that real shit, them Stapleton/Hill shit
Man, Staten Island, period, we stack the paper, serious
And 4 Security Reasons, my niggas are squeezing
If you fucking with my paper, that's a good enough reason
I'm banging niggas in the head, it's a good enough season
I'm having niggas knocked off, and I'm O.T. breezing
I'm a young O.G. breathing, a real M.C. speaking
A real wild Puerto Rican rocking shows on the weekend
Militant when I creep and my ringtones barely speaking
LP is heat seeking, little hot bitches that peeping for me
They dying to spend a weekend with me, mommies love to creep with me
I have 'em yelling 'papi, you so deep in me'

[Chorus]

[Dom Pachino]
How can I bring New York back, when I never left
Suddenly it's sudden death and very few can touch the mic like I do
The rest study us like a Bible, I make music for survival
Roll with a tribe who don't need arrival
Open your eyes fool and I will suprise you
You either come correct or I will deny you, get the roasters and fry you
Keep fucking with that blood money, yeah dunny
Get cash a couple months, they be feds on your ass
New York the center of attraction, there's no better excuse
To the way I'm rapping, the phone tapping
Even your friends are rapping and I'm not, over reacting
Got to stay ten steps ahead of them, hit the dough and get rid of them
That's exactly how I'm living fam

[Chorus 2X]