21st Century Crisis

[Intro: Shyheim]<br>Flick up your lighters (yeah, uh)<br>Flick up your lighters (yeah, yeah, yeah, come on, Bottom Up! yeah)<br>Flick up your lighters (Ay, 2Pac already told y`all moron)<br>Who got beef, I`m just here to reinform my shit<br>You know, you done did Big, you done did Craig Mack<br>Man, you did Shyheim (New York, New York) You did the kid<br>That`s how we gon` do it, we gon` this real clever<br>From the Staten Island connection, oh<br><br>[Chorus: Shyheim]<br>I`m the 21st Century Crisis, run with two five-to-lifers<br>That buck at bikers, get booked on Riker`s<br>I`m the 21st Century Crisis, I`m a fighter<br>Flick up your lighters, for your nigga<br>With bigger website, despite us<br>I`m the 21st Century Crisis, run with two five-to-lifers<br>That buck at bikers, get booked on Riker`s<br>21st Century Crisis, I`m a fighter<br>Flick up your lighters, my nigga<br><br>[Shyheim]<br>I`m street intelligent<br>Puffin` that drink with Lazanet, that get an elephant<br>Get out of line, like them little kid, colorin`<br>I body your ass, then bury your ass, then dig you<br>Back the fuck up, and shoot up your skeletons<br>For talkin` all that jazz, like you Duke Ellington<br>I melt your shit, like when Sundew, people with no melennin<br>Shy, the 21st Century Crisis, spittin` shit<br>And piss on rappers, like they C.O.`s on Riker`s<br>Death arrive, the last face you`ll ever see is Shy`s<br>And my hand`s wrapped around more necks than Armani ties<br>Came through in the M-5, tinted and kitted<br>The color of spinach, with Monica and Mya in it<br>I inspired, The Boy Is Mine Remix<br>And the begets on my wrists be the size of Cheez-It`s<br>I`ve been gettin` it, ever since I could remember<br>That`s why I post a million dollar bail like Baretta<br>I crush your mic, I crush your mic twice<br>I move like Saddam, I got twenty look-a-likes<br>Wear twenty different color Nike`s<br>I`m like Ghost, I keep a bird on my arm flooded with ice<br><br>[Chorus]<br><br>[Interlude: Shyheim]<br>Yeah, flick up your lighters<br>It`s Bottom Up, nigga<br><br>[Shyheim]<br>I bust your head open, with an 40 ounce of Old English<br>Then be thinkin` to myself, I could of, should of drinked it<br>As a man think of inner thoughts<br>So he in, deep inside your pudding, you don`t want it with kid<br>Who got it on with the dogs, and every jail of my bid<br>Had a scalpal put up my ass, not on no faggot shit<br>Twenty one guns a year, that`s what my average is<br>And I ain`t gon` quit, until you get my enemies<br>The what? Out the whip, I`m the dude that they love to hate<br>Hate that they love, with too much street drama<br>To be in somebody`s club, so I`m cautious<br>Cuz I know shit that get funky, just like horse shit<br>Like I could be dead or in jail, by the morning<br>All everybody else`ll be doing is talking<br>About the unfortunate, let a couple years fly by<br>Everybody forget, it`s like you gone in the wind<br>You going to the pen, but y`all don`t hear me though<br>Let me say the shit again, like you gone in the wind<br>You going to the pen, twenty years will make a friend<br>One day to lose a friend, that`s why I speak less and listen more<br><br>[Chorus]<br><br>[Outro: Shyheim]<br>Flick up your lighters, flick up your lighters<br>I`m the 21st Century Crisis, and that means<br>Man, I`m bringing it back to New York<br>Staten Island, New York (put ten years on this beat)<br>Brooklyn, Queens, The Bronx, Manhattan, Uptown (cock that shit)<br>You know takin` my early days, let`s take this shit back<br>New York, New York, that`s where I`m from