My Backyard Which Happens To Be In Brooklyn

is the spot to go cry your eyes out

the spot to go puff puff pass out 

the spot to go kiss kiss breathe out

and you don't have to be cool 

and you don't have to sport

sweatshirts that stitch

your 'hood's names on their hoods

'cause while all the hipsters are staying up late

dripping money out their nose on their french bistro plates

flicking cigarettes on sidewalks on my block's corners

my backyard which happens to be in brooklyn

is dripping words from real mourners

and real mourners don't go to brooklyn

they come back to brooklyn

and they leave brooklyn

and they come back to brooklyn

but they definitely don't need to go to brooklyn

'cause you don't go where you're from

plus i'm sick of these cool kids

buying veggies at Met

and setting up stoop sales to help pay their rent

Where the slope starts to slope and the cobble stone ends

the gardens, the heights, and the hook don't pretend

to know which kids have seen it all change

So go write your novel, your blog, and your checks

While your girlfriend buys jeans and your boyfriend new kicks

I'll be in my backyard, which happens to be in brooklyn,

crying my eyes out and 

puff puff and passing out and 

kiss kiss and breathing out

until it's really time to move out.