[Intro]
Uh huh, ge-ge ge-ge-geah
Ye-ye-yeah, ye-ye-yeah, (Brooklyn)
How real is, this?
How real is, this? (Brooklyn)
Uh-huh huh (Brooklyn)
Respect this here, check!
[Verse 1]
I’m from where the hammers rung, news cameras never come
You and your mans hung in every verse in your rhyme
Where the grams was slung, niggas vanish every summer
When the blue vans would come, we throw the work in the can and run
Where the plans was to get funds and skate off the set
To achieve this goal quicker, sold all my weight wet
Faced with immeasurable odds, still I gave straight bets
So I felt I’m owed something and you nothing, check
I’m from the other side where the other guys don’t walk too much
And girls from the projects wouldn’t fuck us, said we talked too much
So they ran up to Tompkins and sought them dudes to trust
I don’t know what the fuck they thought, those niggas is foul just like us
I’m from where the beef is inevitable, summertime’s unforgettable
Boosters in abundance, buy a half-price sweater new
Your word was everything, so everything you said you’d do
You did it, couldn’t talk about it if you ain’t live it
I’m from where niggas pull your card, and argue all day about
Who’s the best MCs, Biggie, Jay-Z or Nas?
Where the drugs czars evolve, and thugs are at odds
At each other’s throats for the love of foreign cars
Where cats catch cases, hoping the judge R-and-R’s
But most times find themselves locked up behind bars, is that all?
I’m from where they ball and breed rhyme stars
I’m from Marcy, son, just thought I’d remind y’all
[Chorus]
Cough up a lung, where I’m from, Marcy son, ain’t nothing nice
(Mentally been many places but I’m Brooklyn’s own)
Cough up a lung, where I’m from, Marcy son, ain’t nothing nice
(Mentally been many places but I’m Brooklyn’s own)
Cough up a lung, where I’m from, Marcy son, ain’t nothing nice
(Mentally been many places but I’m Brooklyn’s own)
Cough up a lung, where I’m from, Marcy son, ain’t nothing nice
(Mentally been many places but I’m Brooklyn’s own)
Cough up a lung, where I’m from, Marcy son, ain’t nothing nice
(Brooklyn… so where you from?)
[Verse 2]
I’m from the place where the church is the flakiest
And niggas been praying to God so long that they atheist
Where you can’t put your vest away
And say you’ll wear it tomorrow
‘Cause the day after we’ll be saying
“Damn, I was just with him yesterday”
I’m a block away from hell
Not enough shots away from stray shells
An ounce away from a triple beam
Still using a hand-held weight scale
You’re laughing, you know the place well
Where the liquor stores and the base dwell
And government? Fuck government! Niggas politick theyselves
Where we call the cops the A-Team
‘Cause they hop out of vans and spray things
And life expectancy so low we making out wills at eighteens
Where how you get rid of guys who step out of line, your rep solidifies
So tell me when I rap, you think I give a fuck who criticize?
If the shit is lies, God strike me
And I got a question:
Are you forgiving guys who live just like me? We’ll never know
One day I prayed to you and said if I ever blow, I’d let ’em know
The stakes, and exactly what takes place in the ghetto
Promise fulfilled, still I feel my job ain’t done
Cough up a lung, where I’m from, Marcy son, ain’t nothing nice
[Chorus]
Cough up a lung, where I’m from, Marcy son, ain’t nothing nice
(Mentally been many places but I’m Brooklyn’s own)
Cough up a lung, where I’m from, Marcy son, ain’t nothing nice
(Mentally been many places but I’m Brooklyn’s own)
Cough up a lung, where I’m from, Marcy son, ain’t nothing nice
(Mentally been many places but I’m Brooklyn’s own)
Cough up a lung, where I’m from, Marcy son, ain’t nothing nice
(Mentally been many places but I’m Brooklyn’s own)
Cough up a lung, where I’m from, Marcy son, ain’t nothing nice
(Brooklyn… so where you from?)
[Verse 3]
Check, I’m from where they cross-over and clap boards
Lost Jehovah in place of rap lords, listen
I’m up the block, around the corner and down the street
From where the pimps, prostitutes and the drug lords meet
We make a million off of beats, ’cause our stories is deep
And fuck tomorrow, as long as the night before was sweet
Niggas get lost for weeks in the street, twisted off leek
And no matter the weather, niggas know how to draw heat
Whether you’re four-feet or Manute size
It always starts out with three dice and “shoot the five”
Niggas thought they deuce was live, then I hit ’em with trips
And I reached down for their money, pa, forget about this
This time around it’s platinum, like the shit on my wrist
And this Glock on my waist, y’all can’t do shit about this
Niggas’ll show you love, that’s how they fool thugs
Before you know it, you’re lying in a pool of blood
Where I’m from
[Chorus]
Cough up a lung, where I’m from, Marcy son, ain’t nothing nice
(Mentally been many places but I’m Brooklyn’s own)
Cough up a lung, where I’m from, Marcy son, ain’t nothing nice
(Mentally been many places but I’m Brooklyn’s own)
Cough up a lung, where I’m from, Marcy son, ain’t nothing nice
(Mentally been many places but I’m Brooklyn’s own)
Cough up a lung, where I’m from, Marcy son, ain’t nothing nice
(Brooklyn…)
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