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Brooklyn - Ron Pope



     
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Brooklyn Lyrics


Sometimes I feel like I don't have a partner
Sometimes I feel like my only friend
Is the city I live in, is beautiful Brooklyn
Long as I live here believe I'm on fire hey
'Cause it's the B-the-R-the-O-the-O-K
L-Y-N is the place where I stay
The B-the-R-the-O-the-O-K
Best in the world and all USA
It's the B-to-the-R-the-O-the-O-K
L-Y-N is the place where I stay
The B-to-the-R-the-O-the-O-K
Place where I rest is on my born day
Bust it, sometimes I sit back and just reflect
Watch the world go by and my thought connect
I think about the time past and the time to come
Reminesce on Bed-Stuy when I was pride and young
I used to try and come, to the neighborhood function
Throw on my Izod, say a little something

When I was just a youngin, before the days of thuggin
How me and Charlie Chims (aiyyo what?) I'm only buggin
Fast forward, Nine-Now I gotta team my seed
I must proceed at God's speed to perform my deed
Livin the now space and time, round the nine to five
For as long as I'm alive, paw I got to strive
I ain't sittin roadside, that ain't harder to plan
I'm out here for my fam doin all that I can
I love my city, sweet and gritty in land to outskirts
Nickname Bucktown 'cause we grown to outburst
Philosophy redefine us, touch mines I touch back
Walk the streets like a sweet and get beat like drum tracks
Catch no shakes over jakes (boomp-boomp!) we bust back
Bring the marty to your face wit no place to run back
I'm from the slums that created the bass that thump back
This ain't a game clown, play ya James Brown and jump back
What you want, Jack? Young cats stash they jums at
Draw they guns back, momma screams where she sons at
Tryin to hunt that, recurring dream of high stakes
The fourth largest, first artist, Brooklyn is the place
Settled by the judge many years ago
Three billion strong and here we go
GOOD MORNINNNNNNNNNGG VIETNAM
Ha (back up back up back up back up back up)*repeated in background*
Yo sometimes I sit back, reflect on the place that I live at
Unlike any place I ever been at
The home of big gats, deep dish hammer rim caps
Have a mishap, push ya wig back
Where you go to get the fresh trim at
Four on the jake got the Timb rack
Blue collars metro carding it
Thugs mobbin it, form partnership
Increase armorment, street pharmacist
Deep consequence, when you seek sleek ornaments
You get caught, rode the white horse and can't get off
Big dogs that trick off just get sent off
They shoebox stash is all they seeds gotta live off
It's real yo but still yo, it's love here
And it's felt by anybody that come here
Out of towners take the train, plane and bus here
Must be something that they really want here
One year as a resident, deeper sentiment
Shoutout 'Go Brooklyn!', they representin it
Sittin on they front stoop sippin Guinesses
Usin native dialect in they sentences
From the treeline blocks to the tenaments
To the Mom and Pop local shop menaces
Travel all around the world in great distances
And ain't a place that I know that bear resemblance
That's why we it The Planet
Not a borough or a prov, it's our style that's uncalm
From ?sun? to the ? to the Lafayette Gardens
White ?coff guawinas? in they army jacket linings
Yo this goes out to my cats in Coney Isle
Friday night out in front The Himalaya goin wild
This goes out to Crown Heights and Smurv Village
The nighties, and all my ?yarda trenny? Brown's Village
Parkside tennants caught, thirties, forties, and the fifties
The cats out in Starite City gettin busy
To the Hook, to the East, to the Stuy
Bushwick and Kanarcy, Farraget, Fullgreen, and Marcy
My Flatbush posse, generals of armies
When it's time to form, just call me
And let this song be, playin loud in Long B
If you love Bucktown STRONGLY
RAISE IT UP
Brooklyn my habitat, the place where it happen at
Live sway and the sharp balance of the battle axe
Irons is brandished at, thugs draw they hammer back
It's where you find the news tool crew cameras at
It's where my fam is at, summertime jame is at
They play Big and get you open like a sandal back
Hotter than candle wax, hustlin you can't relax
The crack babies tryin to find where they mama's at
It's off the handle black, wit big police scandals that
Turn into actions screenplays sold to Miramax
The type of place where they check your appearance at
And cats who know where all the high low gear is at
The stompin grounds, where you find a pound, smoke is that
Be blazin charm that have your wave cap floatin back
The doorstep where the disposessed posted at
Dope fiends out at Franklin Ave sellin zovarax
You big ballin better keep your money folded back
'Cause once the young guns notice that it's over, black
Brooklyn keep on takin it, worldwide we known for that
Flossy cats get it snatched like the local tax
The place I sharpen up my baritone vocals at
Where one of the greatest MC's was a local cat

Enjoy the lyrics !!!
Where should I start…these stories, my music, it comes from all the places I’ve been, the people I’ve been blessed to play music along side, the way it feels to play my guitar until it bleeds or to bang on that old piano in my living room until my shoulders ache and my fingers won’t move anymore. From Georgia to New York, New York to the road; Charleston and Memphis, Vermont to Chicago. Turned 21, then 22…released my first record with The District…Maine and Boston and who knows where else…made love in the grass and meant it…walked down Wilshire, blinking in the Los Angeles sun… got lost in Delaware scrambling to get home to my family after too much time…swam in the ocean with the boys, thanking God for purple and orange Florida sunrises. Soaked up New Orleans…tried to become Levon Helm; realized I wasn’t much of a drummer……turned 23. Wrote A Drop In The Ocean with Zach Berkman and then put it away for six months because I didn’t get it…fell in love…drank whiskey from the bottle and howled at the moon…released Last Call…played the blues back-to-back with Buz in Charlotte and just about everywhere else along that godforsaken highway…the van broke down…we fixed it…the van broke down again. Got lost heading to South Carolina and ended up in Alabama…fell out of love and hit my head on the way towards the bottom…turned 24…made a Christmas album, because, damn it, I like Christmas albums. Played big rooms…played small rooms …listened to Van Morrison and cried…listened to trains scream somewhere off in the distance on ink-black sleepless nights… I traced the outline of a woman’s face on a piece of paper; someone I loved and didn’t want to forget once we’d put the whole thing to bed. The picture didn’t turn out the way I’d hoped, so I took my ink-stained fingers and spelled her name out in big, smeared letters on my arm. I guess that’s all I’ve ever really had…my words. This music is the story of where I’ve been, who I am, and where I’m going…these songs are my life.

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Ron Pope