[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