Yo What's Good New York - Heems

Like a crow, Russell

Go Russell, it’s your birthday

I’m a bastard like Jon Snow

So I rocked the fur shoulder joint

While I cry about it

I’m supplied swords by hooded men

Goonish den where I lay at

Vajayjay they parade for me like I was Pat Sajak

Yaya baybay, how you living?

Me, I got a chip in my brain

And three titties to boot

So whatcha thinking?

Probably 'bout sex with me

Probably the next to be

Fucking with the three sea shells

Me I’m from the future

Watch how I maneuver

Brazilian, Xuxa

A million, Rugers

A thousand, island, dressing

I’m undressing and dismembering you

In my eyes and hive mind and brain

'95 kane’s car from light blue

Crystal, cleanest shit

Sharp as a thistle

Flyer than a regular piece of paper

Salmon with the mayo and the capers

Me I’m getting paper

Split hooves like a satyr

Living large boobs major

Sexy silly baby with the porcelain crown

Man down, man down

Momma, MOMA, Natural History Museum

Where I find my boney brethren

You can get in if you’re sexed in

See me sexting, creepy sex pin

Peep the deepest bluest

My hat is like a dick, bitch

I got the drugs by the part between the nuts and the asshole

Tom Selleck on the facial

Schwarzenegger figure from the '80s

Pasta tossed with basil

Sprinkle me with cheese

Got the hookup on the cable

Glass tables, feets up by the patio

She got the pussy from the sea

Diver Scallop rap got the bitches in the back

Blowing sack

Overaged just one or two years

Fuck me for New Year’s (Yeah)

I’m like The One Man Gang

Accompanied by Slick

Your company wasn’t fucking with me

Now you’re comfortably tugging on my dick

Hunger for a hit

Do a tumble and a flip, bitch

Shouts Queens, shouts my sister Shivani

Good bye solo, chop shop, man push cart

Ramin Bahrani, the ladies they Rani

Beauty who cop jewelry and Maharani-

Jewelers on Union Turnpike

Shouts to Dap’s mom, that’s Huma

Shouts to wrestlers, Yokozuna

Shouts to Tiger Ali Singh with bling on

Speaking Klingon

Kiss the ring on, my fingers, is what I’ve been on

Concurrent, young sleepy call me Venom

Flow is sharp, throwing darts

Dropping cats, Owen Hart

Florida grocery

Shoutout to Floetry

Shoutout to Bushra Rehman’s poetry

Shouts to Mohammad

We used to burn in the back of the Beamer

Third world fam

He was the first of the cats that called me Heema

Not for FEMA, schemer

For Abner Louima, dreamer

You ain’t on what Heems on (Uh!)

Walk with me, my shirts is lilac

My skin is brown

I’m blue so I rap

I cough til my capillaries burst

And I’m carried in a hearst

You’re carrying a purse

I’m valiant with words

Carrying the herb

Marrying the verbs

You all merry and you herbs

(Yeah!)