From cuttin' solid Purico to stack Fritos Went from grams to kilos Mac in one hand, in the other hand grands and c-notes Game got my eyes wider than a
Dear America I'm only what you made me Young, black and fuckin' crazy Please save me I'm dyin' inside Can't you see it in my eyes? I'm hopeless, fearless
Burn so crooked (Crooked) The poet likes to spit (Spit) Kareem, that's my dog Life behind the walls Nigga, life behind the walls Yeah, welcome to Oz,
Artist: Shyne Album: Boys Will Be Boys b/w Fuck 'Em 12" Song: Fuck 'Em Typed by: BiGPuN Verse 1: Leave n****a layin' stiffer than my dick when it'
Its over nigga one sandscript The heckler makes good fellas run frantic Guns i brandish make men vanish Got bodies in Kansas, across the Atlantic Once
The lord is my shepherd Let's get this coke measured And as I walk through the valley of the shadow of gangstas I fears nothin but God and bein broke
Where it at, where it at Where it at, where it at Where it at, where it at Oh do he rhyme with a slug from the shots in his face or Do he rhyme wit a
Just blaze I spit an' reload things since livin' was gold rings Fuck a piece of the pie, nigga, gimme the whole thing I done seen death, seen less, seen
Yeah, yeah This ones for my Brooklyn playboys This ones for my L.A. playboys This ones for my Chi town playboys ATL, down south, NC, SC Where you be?
Uh huh, uh huh, Brooklyn, Vietnam What you, uh, yeah, uh, come on Oh no, big Shyne Po Back in the motherfuckin' heezy for sheezy Gimme a tech that don
Now tell me who want to fuck with us? Ashes to ashes, dust to dust I bang and let your fuckin' brains hang, snitches Fuck Marla Maple bitches with riches
It goes love, hate, pleasure and pain Fo' albums in the can and I'm STILL in the game (what up?) And last album, they don't like me to tell this Debuted
Geah, uhh, uhh, uhh Uh-huh, like that Geah, uhh Ten bricks nigga in the air, hold tec It's that motherfuckin' nigga named Shyne Nothin' but cum for these
[Shyne] Yeah, yeah This ones for my Brooklyn playboys This ones for my L.A. playboys This ones for my Chi-town playboys ATL, down south NC, SC Where you
Let's go, Shyne, pro, bust pipes get right Bang, stop, roll 'head throw the dice White Air Force Ones, monies in rubber bands America's number one dope
Shit, sometimes man, be contemplating Yo, living in hell, die, might be better Walk through the shadow of death, my out pissing Rebel, laughing at the
I just wanna move mad bricks for all the days I never had shit Now I'm young heartless an' rich Pistols an' pussy, straight from the door Brown paper
No, we don't need no more trouble We ain't the problem nigga We don't need no more trouble, no more trouble I ain't the problem Solve me, if I am ever