| In the streets of New York
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| Dope fiends are leaning for morphine
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| The TV screen followed the homicide scenes
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| You live here, you’re taking a chance
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| So look and I take one glance, there’s a man inside an ambulance
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| Crowds are getting louder, I wonder how the
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| People want to go fight for the white powder
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| People hanging in spots
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| They waited until the blocks got hot
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| And got raided by the cops
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| I’ll explain the man sleeping in the rain
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| His whole life remains inside a bottle of Night Train
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| Another man got his clothes in a sack
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| Cause he spent every dime of his rent playing blackjack
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| And there’s the poor little sister
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| She has a little baby daughter
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| Named Sonya and Sonya has pneumonia
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| So why’s her mother in a club unzipped though?
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| Yo that’s her job, Sonya’s mommy is a bar stripper
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| Drug dealers drive around looking hard
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| Knowing they’re sending their brothers and sisters to the graveyard
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| Every day is a main event, some old lady limps
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| The pushers and pimps eat shrimps
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| It gets tiring, the sight of a gun firing
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| They must desire for the sound of a siren
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| A bag lady dies in an alleyway
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| She’s seen the last of her days inside the subways
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| More and more down the slope, the kid couldn’t cope
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| So he stole somebody’s dope and a gold rope
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| Now my son’s on the run, he’s a wanted one
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| Had fun then was done by a shotgun
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| Upstairs I cover my ears and tears
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| The man downstairs must have drank too many beers
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| Cause every day of his life he beats his wife
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| Till one night she decides to pull a butcher knife
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| Blind man plays the sax
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| A tune called |