Big Apple Fanatics ft. Certain

[Mike Wrecka]

yo
im the awesomest , no one could rhyme better,
im the boss at this, call me Mr. Steinbrenner,
the interlocking letters, atop my New Era,
were forged in a melting pot with true pressure
bow in the presence of greatness,
this dynasty keeps giving gifts, its been so damn gracious,
if you come round here , repping other places,
Ill break your legs like Lawrence Taylor did while wasted,
face it, you lames are just so damn basic,
94 proved, winning is contagious,
refuse to lose, that's how your supposed to live,
go hard on the block, like Charles Oakley did,
when its time to battle, I got unlimited ammo,
as I go to the pen, its Girardi, Mariano,
game over, never sober, love to catch a buzz
taking more shots than Alex Rodriguez does,
am I coming off hyper?, need to mellow out?,
naaa Melo aint out, he just re-signed and bought a bigger house,
and to my rivals , just know that your hate is wack,
cause in the end, I come through, like jeter in his last at bat,
no matter where im at, this passion will never die,
cause till the casket drops im representin NY



I have 27 rings on my middle finger. Feeling specious,
killing speakers with my "luckiest man" chilling speeches.
So clear your bleachers. Certain's known from Flatbush to Bronx.
The islands are mine: I've got Long, Manhattan and Staten ensconced.
Flatten your brims like a quarterback sacked by Yumeniora.
When the madness begins, I retract and come back as a human horror.
You're out of your league. Go back to the minors,
Me? My cash supply is something like Paul O'Neil's bat supplier.
The Cap's retired, but I'm Brett Gardner, getting on first with ease.
Stealing a base, your girl and Curtis Granderson's job security.
The fuck are you thinking? Train's moving. Ride or get off it
or I'll have you passing out faster than Calderon in the triangle offense.
My swagger rivals obnoxious, strut in and boast a grimey gaze.
One look, cowards'll stutter like John Sterling for most of '98.
Sublimely great: The Sultan of Swat, Colossus of Clout.
Smalls'll be taught in all I'm about: calling my shot and watching it out.
Stopping to pose. No autographs please. All the kids want to be me.
Broadway's best: They let me drunkenly kiss married women on TV.
And you? You're nothing to see, please. You're a bastard, a sad urchin.
With delusions of grandeur, you're a bad person — practically Chad Curtis.