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