"Native New Yorker (Rap Edition)©"
Lyrics by M. S. McKenzie | Performed by American Storyteller Music, Protected by Copyright
~ Associated State Links ~
Original Song Lyrics: Written by M. S. McKenzie, All Rights Reserved
"Native New Yorker"
[Intro]
Taxi horns sync up with a kick and a clap
Neon rain on the windshield, the city's on tap
Boom-bap roots with a cool six-string spark,
808 heartbeat under city lights after dark.
Skyscraper choirs hum a wordless tome
I’m tuned in to this town; it’s my metronome.
[Verse 1]
Step off the A at 42nd, Times Square's ablaze
Pretzel steam and street drums set the phrase
Then a bodega bell rings and it's like a hi-hat kick
Dayglo Keds find the crosswalk:left, right:click
West 4th courts a-pop-in with backboard thunders
Billboards blink their hooks, a million little blunders
Downtown, Yellow taxis riff like a rock guitar bend
I ride the downbeat, this city’s more than just a trend
[Chorus]
New York, you got me running on your heart's beat
From the Bronx down to SoHo, you keep me on my feet
Central Park's misty breath to Brooklyn Bridge blue
Every thought I have and verse I write is all about you
From the Apollo Theatre down to High Line, such release
You are my hip-hop soul; you are my R&B peace
You are my pop-light sparkle and my rock-edge truth...
New York, you’re more than just the rhythm of my youth
[Verse 2]
A new dawn filters through the trees of Central Park
Skaters on the pathways and dogs on chains that bark
There's a sax on Malcolm X Boulevard; is that a sign?
There's history in the making with a groove so fine
In Queens there are museums in Flushing Meadows
And Jackson Heights plates are where the spices flow
There's rhythm in Chinatown as lanterns sway in time
I’m tasting every measure while the church bells chime
[Verse 3]
Over the Brooklyn Bridge giant cables hum low
Trendy DUMBO's got the best view down below
Williamsburg is pretty hip but the vinyl’s kinda slow
And all the Indie kids nod while the bassline grows
Out on Coney Island there's a chorus of laughs
The cyclone carves a tempo in wooden-stave graphs
And street-art:or graffiti:competes with the chrome
These corners are the beating heart of the City…
...a place I proudly call home
[Chorus]
New York, you got me running on your heart's beat
From the Bronx down to SoHo, you keep me on my feet
Central Park's misty breath to Brooklyn Bridge blue hue
Every thought I have and verse I write is all about you
From the Apollo down to High Line, the City never sleeps
You are my heart and soul but sometimes you play for keeps
New York, you’re more than just the rhythm of my youth
You are my pop-light sparkle and my rock-edge truth...
[Outro]
I take a last slice of midnight as Broadway sighs
Then look back as a city winks with millions of eyes
The L-train hums a tune where the river holds the moon
And the Big Apple says, “Good night, see ya real soon.”
[Instrumental Outro to fade]
[End]
Song Description
Song description (website-ready):
This track is a full-sensory sprint through New York City: built on boom-bap roots, driven by an 808 heartbeat, and lit up with a slick six-string edge. It opens with taxi horns locking into the groove as neon rain smears across the windshield, turning the whole city into a living metronome. From there, the verses move like a late-night transfer: stepping off the A at 42nd into Times Square’s blaze, catching bodega bells that snap like hi-hats, hearing West 4th’s backboards crack like percussion, and riding downtown where yellow cabs bend through traffic like rock-guitar riffs.
The chorus is a love letter and a mission statement: New York as both muse and momentum. It runs from the Bronx down to SoHo, breathes Central Park’s mist, crosses Brooklyn Bridge blue, and finds release from the Apollo Theatre to the High Line: where hip-hop backbone, R&B calm, pop sparkle, and rock truth all fuse into one skyline-shaped hook.
As the song widens out, it catches the city’s morning and its world-in-one-borough flavor: a sax line on Malcolm X Boulevard, museums and open-air energy in Flushing Meadows, spices and street life in Jackson Heights, lantern-lit rhythm in Chinatown. Then it lands in Brooklyn: DUMBO views, Williamsburg vinyl, indie kids nodding to the bassline, and Coney Island laughter riding the Cyclone’s wooden tempo: before the outro slows into a midnight slice, a Broadway sigh, and the L train humming under a moonlit river. New York doesn’t just set the beat here: it is the beat, and the narrator can’t help but come back for more.
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