New York Shit Lyrics – Harry Mack
Singer: Harry Mack
Title: New York Shit
Ah, yeah, c’mon, ey, c’mon, ey
One two
Yeah, check it
One two
Ah, yeah
My flow is fatal, disconnect the cable of your label
‘cause all your lyrics got holes in the middle like a bagel
H-mack i’m off the top
I come through with the mean steece
Best believe me got more flavor than cream cheese
I’m up in here and i’m spitting it clear
Rappers flavorless like bagels that ain’t got no schmear
H-mack i make it happen man y’all know i came to rock
Word to salmon on your bagel ‘cause i got the sh#t on locks
People tappin’ in, as soon as i start rapping, they hear it’s me
Hey yo, y’all know that i bless it with ease
I got flavor like the poppy or the sesame seed
Rappers can’t really cope, hey, i be clean as soap
Hey, like poppy seed up in your system i’m too dope
Hey follow along swallow your songs so swiftly
There ain’t a living rapper in the game who could diss me
When i kick these bars they thank me
Y’all know that i bang frees
Off the top and knock it out the park like the yankees
C’mon, and i’ll be spitting all these flames
Word to the new york yankees i’ve been winning every game
C’mon, i’mma rock it in the park
I’mma plug into your sprocket after dark
Just to knock it out the park
Hold up, wait a minute man y’all know that your face exploded
When i started spitting hit the ball with the bases loaded
Ready for whatever check out my style
It’s like i tripped the ball sideways my lyrics is foul
H-mack on another plane i’mma spit it fly y’all
I’m about to dive in and catch the fly ball
Wait, coming right off at the tip of this
Y’all know my lyrics gonna bash your dome
I’m improvising with my vocals like it was a saxophone
H-mack, i’m kicking the lyrics that’s leaving your soul slain
Improvising all on the saxophone like i was john coltrane
Yeah, matter o’ fact we never having money problems
‘bout to take a trip to st. thomas like i’m sonny rollins
Naming all the saxophone legends ‘cause i go harder
In fact my level of skill is like charlie parker
C’mon, i’m off the tip i brought the foul flow
Big lyrics like tenor but i hit like an alto
Saxophone is screaming over top of the chord progression
H-mack, i drop a gorgeous lesson
Manifesting when i’m in it, man, y’all know how i do
Like the painting behind you with black, red, yellow, blue
Yeah, i see the geometric shapes that i create
I’m ‘bout to kill it off the top homie and that’s no debate
They steppin’ to mack they know when it can’t be one
And kind of like red sweater that my homie’s wearing right there
I be a champion
Yeah they refer to mack as mister
Thank you for the feature, from your little sister
Mack, i’mma running forever my bars are clever
When it comes to lyrics i got the type they can’t measure
Yeah i’m here to damage you never once been an amateur
Shout to homie filming iphone with three cameras
Way too advanced, i got what you need
I grab on the mic, i make tracks bleed
And every single time that i flow i’m the lord
These rappers couldn’t hang if they was on your bulletin board
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Lyrics Harry Mack – New York Shit
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