Artist: M.O.P. Album: First Family 4 Lif Song: New York Salute Typed by: firstname.lastname@example.org Chorus: Lil' Fame Primetime (New York, New York) That's the place where the soldiers die (New York, New York) That's the ghetto nigga's feelings (New York, New York) That's the niggas that multiply (New York, New York) [Lil' Fame] (Billy Danze) Yo, where you from, nigga? (New York) When you come through here (Fool, take your jewels off) Cause these niggas is known for (Bumpin fools off) And they takin over (If your crew's off) You got thugs with machines, assault teams Regulating things from Brownsville to Fort Green Up in the Bronx where the people are fresh People are blessed, with slugs that'll eat through your vest Boriquas for heaters (Down to bust) And them New Jers' niggas is down with us I know you heard about that cop, trying to stop a felon Got trapped, caught a slug in his cerbellum We welcome, visitors with open arms, and firearms And sick terrorists with bombs And, when you slide through on the VI, son Pack your bags and don't forget your nine and have a good time Chorus: Billy Danze [Billy Danze] Get your Mac, get your gat, head for 95 Stop, pick up your dogs, tell em, "Let's ride" Throw in some du-op shit, lean in your car Knowing you'll hear some new O.C. or Gang Starr It ain't to far once you into VA Fuck with your high-beams and see who's going your way Keep your ??, so the man won't trap you Now leadin the convoy to the Big Apple! Tell your homies, "Fuck that thing" dip in the left lane Make your Honda Accord perform like a plane You in Deleware, you almost hear The New Jersey Turnpike, is right there (right there) Haul-ass, make your backwheels spin Get in the wind, your under a hundered miles in When you reach the Lincoln Tunnel, black, hit me on my box We on the other side of that bitch with Cognac and glocks Chorus: Lil' Fame and Billy Danze Home, sweet home, nigga. Home team, nigga. Home team. Your home nigga, your home, nigga. Come on back. Come on back. Mash Out Posse. Firing Squad. ‘99, baby, ‘99. Hiphop. Lock it down. One time for your mind. Salute, salute. First Family.