Godfather Lyrics by Shyne

Godfather Lyrics

    Uh huh, Uh huh, Brooklyn Vietnam
    What you, Uh yeah, Uh, Come on

    Oh no, big Shyne Po
    Back up in the motherfuckin heezy for sheezy
    Gimme a tech that don't jam (bang bang)
    I'm tryin to jucks some more grams and work this whole thing
    My minds poisoned, corrupted and diseased
    360 ki's
    Money make the world spin
    I make your chest smoke
    Have your mother singing hymms
    Particles of your brains up on your tims
    Kiss you before I twist you
    170 miles
    Headed for disaster faster
    I put it down right
    Bustin off these rounds like
    Real niggaz is kings
    You ain't rockin' that crown right
    Harder more PK watches
    Topless, bitches in cars
    Only meals could heal my scars

    [Chorus]
    Niggaz wanna rhyme like shine like me
    They supposed to
    Niggaz wanna bust their guns like me
    They supposed to
    Niggaz wanna grind like crime like me
    They supposed to
    Niggaz wanna mash like me, dash like me

    [Repeat]

    Allegations got me pacin'
    Grand jury wouldn't understand my fury
    For fast cars and jewelry
    I could give a fuck if there's a heaven for a G
    This is heaven for me
    Go to trial never plea
    Do a bullet and come home to the throne
    I don't rhyme, I just talk about this life that's mine
    I've seen niggaz die, in front of my eyes
    Doin' my filth
    Niggaz is expiring like milk
    Different strokes for different folks
    Just give me, different coke in different boats
    Black Aristotle Onassis
    All I see is crack addicts and automatics
    You rap niggaz is faggots
    Y'all cannot be serious
    I'm in coupes with gucci interiors
    Airin' out your areas
    Tech nines, two in the flex and shit
    Lookin' at myself like
    Yo, I'm the best in this

    [Chorus x2]

    Sometimes I really wonder
    What's it all about?
    How many bitches can I fuck until I get out
    How many ki's can I cut, guns can I bust
    Wigs can I push, spots can I juck
    Every single one, cuz I'm a fuckin' savage
    Til I'm cremated, most hated, self made
    Blood type G
    All these young hustlers wanna bubble like me
    They supposed to
    Sippin on syrup, until I perish
    Pickin' bitches off the run-way
    Look forward to, gun-play
    Go to sleep with one eye shut
    Wake up and do the same shit
    I ain't never gonna change bitch
    And that's the cycle
    I don't wanna be like Michael
    More like Darrell Porter
    Gettin' shipments at the border

    Yeah, it's a wrappity wrap

    [Chorus x4]


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