Shyne The Gang Lyrics

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(feat. 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 y'all; Murder City
[Shyne] Lay down n**** (It's the Ill Na Na)
Cut ya d*** off put it in ya mouth y'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 n**** Yacht if the mink is saggin'
Since a youth I flipped, on some ruthless s***
Had a thing for rings, bling, Coupes and s***
Some' bout watchin' Montana come up outta Havana
And rule this world made me wanna grab my hammer
f*****' with the Cheddar Boys
Some hustler flip girls instead of boys
Keep filthy laweys, for when the FEDs annoy us
We keep this s*** gangsta n**** 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 n***** when I comfort n*****
Motor City to Brooklyn Veitnam
n**** it's on till my flesh is gone
And even then I live on in gangsta form

What you know about that?
Macs and cash n**** how you love that?
What you know about that?
Doin' it up livin' it up, n**** what?
What you know about that?
The gully kid put it in your skully kid, bleed n**** 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
Yall got a m****f***in problem when my dude get out
Dutty Ay bust a shot for Shyne get the Guiness Stout
Thats my word I got the Berken pulled over up on Parkside & Nostrond
In the b***er scotch Rover
I'm ah bad gal style like I'm 'posta
Got his comrades in Clinton bustin' nuts on my poster
Phone check! m****f**** hit the yard up
Comm stop Mid-State Brooklyn n***** 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 n***** take they time like a man
We don't snitch we don't sing on the stand but y'all don't hear me though..

[3rd Verse (Shyne)]
Money, cars, guns, hoes
Sniff some blow and I'm good to go
Eagle inflated Federal Bureau Investigated
Most hated n**** read the affidavit
Uh racing loud pipes
big f****** 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 wanna be Shyne, and I don't blame ya
Who wouldn't? Young n**** catching charges
Continental Ts parked in garages
Menages, odds is
I'm the best spittin' it, n**** I'm gettin' it
I admit it I was watching New Jack City
And f****** 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 wanna talk, I'm the hottest n**** in New York


Written by: Linda Laurie, Terry M. Etlinger, David Porter, Ronald Williams, Jamaal Barrow
Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group

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