All The Critics In New York Lyrics - Bow Down - Westside Connection

Goddamn! New York City! 

Skyscrapers and everything! 

Back in the day, we used to respect y'all, niggas 

We used to be down with y'all, niggas 

All you have for the West Coast is criticism and disrespect 

So I say to you and your city 

Y'all niggas will never get our respect again 

West Side nigga! Keepin' it real 

Keepin' it real 

Is Brooklyn in the house? What about Queens in the house? 

Manhattan in the house? Long Island in the house? 

Is the Bronx in the house? Staten Island in the house? 

The West Coast is in the house sayin', "Why you talkin' loud? 

What you talkin' about?" 

Fuck all the critics in the N.Y.C. 

Who wants to rock the microphone after me? 

Think of who you are and who you be 

My energy holds it down like the NFC 

I'm going thorough thorough your borough 

Wit my Raider jacket and my jerry curl 

Gangstas rule the world on the west nevertheless W/S 

We got the bomb and you niggas got the stress 

You couldn't have said it no better, homeboy 

With my automatic toy, I kill and destroy 

These bust ass critics from the N.Y.C. 

Don't they know that I'lI be from the ING? 

My peeps play for keeps deep crews 

Pay dues by murder ones and twos 

Rip riders and Damus choose 

To stay gangsta, you never ever ran us 

We bustin' clips like bananas, spottin' colored bandanas 

It's just the hoodsta cap peela 

Dusty ass New York critic killa 

Dumpin' and pumpin' the mothafuckin' 

Led in their chest 'cause ain't 

None of them niggas ever have it up for the West 

So now it's on and the gauge in my pants got me limping 

Fuck unity while I'm coast tripping 

Sagging as a Bell East smashing tape recorders 

This is 187 on a New York reporter 

New York, New York 

New York, New York 

New York, New York 

New York, New York 

Fuck all the critics in the N.Y.C. 

Tryin' to get a East hip-hop monopoly 

But I've been writin' gangsta shit since '83 

When y'all was still scared to use profanity 

Now everybody wanna run and go and get triggers 

And blaim it on these West Coast 7 figure niggas 

Just because we made it real, niggas got the deal 

I hope blood ain't got the spill, I kill 

It's like the battle of the sexes, you wanna treat us like bitches 

Because we're platinum when we flex this 

With mic in hand, fans in the stands 

We make a mill yan from California to Japan, bitch 

Went overseas, seen D's how we done it 

88's to 100's to let me know who really run it 

This West Coast gangsta shit got it crackin' or we jackin' 

Packin' ninas and sellin' out arenas, niggas 

You make me wanta holla, throw up both my Dubs 

And roll these niggas up, I gotta beat 'em 

When I see 'em T-roll 'em, cut off his scrotum 

Leave 'em bleeding in particles, for them bias all articles 

I'm mashin' and blastin' so get the casket 

I bet you after this I get a fuckin' hip hop classic 

I'm bannin' you niggas from the scene 

Kicking over newstands pourin' gasoline on your magazines 

To the West, my niggas, to the West 

To the West, my niggas, to the West 

To the West, my niggas, to the West 

We the best, my niggas, don't stress 

Fuck all the critics in the N.Y.C. 

And your articles tryin' to rate my LP 

Fuck your backpacks and your wack ass raps 

Sayin' we ain't real because we make snaps 

Selling 6-4 with a dab, what you lookin' at 

With your Brooklyn hat and your pen and pad 

Nigga, I got a pocket full of green bustin' at the seams 

Fuck your baggy jeans, fuck your magazines 

Hey, hey, hey, what's happenin' round Trey 

It's still MT critic K on mines all mothafuckin' day 

It'a trip, the script flipped from when you niggas was bossing 

Got to flossin', fell off and got the nail in the coffin 

Who wanna regret fuckin' with my set 

I be a 24 year street West side Connect Vet 

You niggas better watch how you greet us when you meet us 

We packin' heaters and the only way you beat us is cheat us 

Ay no, nigga, fuck that shit, I've got to kill it, kill it 

Fuck a New York critic, he write about it 

I live it, did it plus I'm still with it putting it down 

On all these DJ's hatin' fakin' 

And faking never once played my record on their radio station 

No love for a New York critic or Disc Jock 

Matter of fact, I'm blaming all y'all for fuckin' up hip hop 

Is Brooklyn in the house? What about Queens in the house? 

Manhattan in the house? Long Island in the house? 

Is the Bronx in the house? Staten Island in the house? 

The West Coast is in the house sayin' 

"Why you talkin' loud? 

What you talkin' about? 

Why you talkin' loud?" 

What you talkin' about? 

What you talkin' about? 

Why you talkin' loud? 

What you talkin' about? 

Why you talkin' loud? 

What you talkin' about? 

Why you talkin' loud? 

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