The Gang Lyrics - Godfather Buried Alive - Shyne

{Shyne} (Foxy Brown) 

[Shyne] Uh huh 

[Foxy Brown] Uh 

[Shyne] Lets get it clear (Uh huh) Brooklyn Vietnam (That's right) 

[Foxy Brown] Yo yo... Live from the seven-one-eight why'all; Murder City 

[Shyne] Lay down nigga (It's the Ill Na Na) 

Cut ya dick off put it in ya mouth why'all understand? (Let's go) 

(1st Verse) [Shyne] 

Ride with me as I race through ya hood 

Give me a fifth that'll bang and a jury that'll hang 

Pants saggin' in that Bentley wagon 

Ayo that's my nigga Yacht if the mink is saggin' 

Since a youth I flipped, on some ruthless shit 

Had a thing for rings, bling, Coupes and shit 

Some' bout watchin' Montana come up outta Havana 

And rule this world made me want to grab my hammer 

Fuckin' with the Cheddar Boys 

Some hustler flip girls instead of boys 

Keep filthy laweys, for when the FEDs annoy us 

We keep this shit gangsta nigga from verse to chorus 

And the Street Lords and Truly Yours 

Drive Modena Spiders and big exhaust 

Bleed for the streets love the war 

My nose bleeds for weeks I love the raw 

Puncture niggaz when I comfort niggaz 

Motor City to Brooklyn Veitnam 

Nigga it's on till my flesh is gone 

And even then I live on in gangsta form 

[Chorus] 

What you know about that? 

Macs and cash nigga how you love that? 

What you know about that? 

Doin' it up livin' it up, nigga what? 

What you know about that? 

The gully kid put it in your skully kid, bleed nigga what it is 

What you know about that? 

Yacht, Cheddar Boys, Streets Lords, truly yours 

(2nd Verse) [Foxy Brown] 

It's the "Godfather Buried Alive" 

Ayo Po it's the Ill Na Na stuntin' in 5.0 

Went to Brooklyn with the Rugers out 

In Flatbush and I keeps the Kiki poppin' off when the goons is out 

why'all got a muthafuckin problem when my dude get out 

Dutty Ay bust a shot for Shyne get the Guinness Stout 

that's my word I got the Berken pulled over up on Parkside & Nostrond 

In the butter scotch Rover 

I'm ah bad gal style like I'm 'posta 

Got his comrades in Clinton bustin' nuts on my poster 

Phone check! Muthafucka hit the yard up 

Comm stop Mid-State Brooklyn niggaz squad up 

I'm hot steppin in the pink staline seven 

I'ma stunt till BIG tell me there's a ghetto up in heaven 

See through niggaz take they time like a man 

We don't snitch we don't sing on the stand but why'all don't hear me though.. 

[Chorus] 

(3rd Verse) [Shyne] 

Money, cars, guns, hoes 

Sniff some blow and I'm good to go 

Eagle inflated Federal Bureau Investigated 

Most hated nigga read the affidavit 

Uh racing loud pipes 

big fucking exhausts burning the turnpike 

My game so tight I arouse dikes 

You punk rappers should paying me publishing the way you write 

And be sampling my life, every line in your rhyme 

Sound like you want to be Shyne, and I don't blame ya 

Who wouldn't? Young nigga catching charges 

Continental Ts parked in garages 

Menages, odds is 

I'm the best spittin' it, nigga I'm gettin' it 

I admit it I was watching New Jack City 

And fucking with Goodfellas? Uncle Paul got me dying to ball 

Every thing I talk about I live it 

All you hear these rappers rap about I really did it 

I was designed to hold nines, and grind 

Step out of line put you in that white line 

Rearrange ya brain ain't nothin change 

You know the game jet planes and cocaine 

And what I say might be held against me 

I don't want to talk, I'm the hottest nigga in New York 

[Chorus]