| This is a Brooklyn-bound 2 express train |
| The next stop is Fulton Street |
| Stand clear of the closing doors please |
| Well I, wrote this in cold sweats, nah |
| Wrote this in old sweats, nah |
| Wrote this in gold text, in a book of shit you’ll forget so |
| I hope the page rip |
| So that way you never erase it, saving it up in a pile |
| To cover and color my smile but let the paint drip |
| 'Cause either way you’ll brush it off |
| Even days we up in odds |
| Even nights we dusting spawns, from dusk to dawn to up in arms |
| When I dust the crust you rusted charm |
| Scared to leave and squeezing tight |
| All we want is peace and fright, all we won is sleepless nights |
| You paint that picture perfect then |
| Curve with curse and revert the design |
| I broke this verse in person |
| You took the perks and inverted the kind |
| Don’t wanna lose my mark but food for thought, deserted my mind |
| I hate that I cut all my personal time to |
| Be just a person in line I’m thinkin' |
| Maybe I’m calling too much, maybe you don’t answer enough |
| Maybe the cure is me and you and the cancer’s us, maybe I |
| Maybe I baby you and I pamper too much |
| So I took out the lighting and put it in writing |
| As if that stamp could do much |
| Staring out my New York City window |
| Staring out my New York City window |
| Staring out my New York City window |
| Staring out my New York City window |
| Staring out my New York City window |
| Staring out my New York City window |
| Staring out my New York City window |
| Staring out my New York City window |
| Well you, read this in my words, no |
| Read this in my shirt and |
| First thought was cry first, Bible |
| Hold tight then sky search |
| Read on |
| Drink and chaser |
| Look how you wrinkled the paper |
| Left the best condolence |
| Time escapes arrest the moment |
| On and off like pre-teen, no |
| I get too old for this |
| A different breed of a saint |
| One layer paint still makes the picture deep |
| I hope that’s what you get from me, grip on us or slip from me |
| You learned from the best, I learned that ya ex |
| It still takes a locksmith to get the key to my |
| New York City window |
| Staring out my New York City window |
| Staring out my New York City window |
| Staring out my New York City window |
| Staring out my New York City window |
| Staring out my New York City window |
| Staring out my New York City window |
| Staring out my New York City window baby |