Nineteen-seventy something, nigga I don't sweat the date
My moms is late so I had to plan my escape
Out the skins, in this world of fly girls
Tanqueray and Hennessy until I cold hurl
Ten months in this gut, what the ****
I wish moms would hurry up so I could get buck
Wild juvenile ripping mics and ****
New York, New York, ready for the likes of this
Then came the worst date, May 21st
2:19, that's when my momma water burst
No spouse in the house so she rode for self
To the hospital, to see if she could get a little help
Umbilical cord's wrapped around my neck
I'm seeing my death and I ain't even took my first step
I made it out, I'm bringing mad joy
The doctor looked and said, "He's going to be a bad boy"