Queens

There’s a place I know where the bitches go
Where they rob you for your dough and chill on the low
In Southside… Queens, Queens
Where if you say, «The Ave»
People automatically know the path
You don’t have to do the math
In Southside… Queens, Queens
I knew this nigga named Donovan
Astonishin' the way he used to handle the pill, God (word)
Let me speak about the way he used to dribble off his knees
And in the middle at the same time guzzling a beer
Like a puzzle or a riddle, discovering his path to the hoop
Scoop, shot, tipped up the backboard, oops
Son got hops, never knew he would’ve grew it
Cool nigga, when it came to school, he blew it
A scholar in acute nigga-risms and metropolitans
Kids hollering, «Yo, Donovan, hey, come around the block»
Youngest of three sons, fucking with coupons and refunds
Food stamps and still he was a champ
Time to get loot for boots and kicks now
Fuck hoops, gotta impress the chicks now
His momma said, «Donovan, why are you
On the corner of Linden and Guy R. Brewer?»
He said, «Momma, listen close, I’mma tell you one time
You’re killing my high, plus I got a nine
All I be doing is putting in work
So you can get a brand new dress for church
I know the Devil lurks outside, man, it’s cold
But I don’t wanna get paid slow and grow old like Poppa
Plus I’m on parole, I gotta
Get paid off the streets to make ends meet»
With the back of her hand, she smacked him in the face
Walked out of the crib-piece, pissed with no chase
That night, rocking Nikes, eating Mike and Ikes
Slapboxing with a dyke on a bike too small
Thinking, «This time, next year, Mom’ll be able to- ohh!»
Shit from across the streets, niggas approach slow
Well, get the metal out, too late, the guns flash
In the melee they wet him like Reggae Sunsplash
Son dashed with the quickness, back into the ride
With a smile on his face, the picture of pride
Blood coming from his mouth, now I’m at his side
Kneeling over Donovan’s body before he died
Eyes fluttering up and down in his head
And with his last breath this is what he said
He said, «Why? Why?»
Then I closed his eyes
There’s a place I know where the people go
Where they rob you for your dough and chill on the low
In Southside… Queens, Queens
Where if you say, «The Ave»
People automatically know the path
You don’t have to do the math
In Southside… Queens, Queens
And if you got a Glock, you could bust shots
Like, when the block be hot
In, what we talking 'bout? Queens, Queens
Uhh, c’mon, uh
C’mon, uh, uh
I know where people go
Where you can cash dough and chill on the low