Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song What a Shame, artist - Royal Flush. Album song Ghetto Millionaire, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 18.08.1997
Record label: Blunt
Song language: English
What a Shame |
| New kid, War Report, dunn blew out the court |
| He claim righteous, the God was jeweled down wit ices |
| My man locked up, in the beast, hit me on the Jag |
| (Aiyo son, I need loot in this piece) |
| I got you, already blessed up, caught hard Tommy Hill |
| Guess appeal, accept collect call, and keep it real |
| But I was locked for three, son you didn’t know me Your bitch had you sue, told you, don’t send me no loot |
| But I survive in 'Green, shorty sent me cream, Adine |
| Moms like, the niggas ain’t real in your team |
| Bring the court rap, my first weak, beef wit the staff |
| Son, where was you at?, called you on the jack |
| Heard you moved from Iraq to Iran and cold ran |
| Ran on me, but you supposed to be my family |
| Tables turned, I’m in Zoo York, you up north |
| I’m in the cockpit, coppin Averate shit |
| You in the P now, straight foul wit crocodile |
| Pretty boy, my little man you like a little boy |
| Taught you the crime life, you blame me, you weakling |
| Yucked up, commissary low, now you thinkin |
| While you locked, I got the block lock wit padlock |
| Jealousy and envy, towards me Word got back to me, you got somethin for me Musolini, yo come and see me Now when you got locked up, livin plush, sneakers as such |
| Always flipped it up, on the phone line, you ran it up Say you stressed as such, few niggas you had to touch |
| Plus the shit’s rough, sendin you balloons, read it up Thug it up, keep it tight, cuz your girl on right |
| It’s all a struggle in life, to sell things and pay the price |
| But I’m wit you, can’t let you down son, I miss you |
| But back on the streets, the police want me wit you |
| It’s official, I’m tryin to blow them lands like a missile |
| Holdin my pistol, to keep it real when I’m wit you |
| Commissary a hit you, like Kings try to rip you |
| Suffer razors an issue, blowin niggas like a whistle |
| Geo.'s 'a try to snitch you, watch the beam before they fish you |
| So just lift weight, I’m layin low until release date |
| Direct sale, judge face to face, no bail |
| Take it to trail, spend a year on the Isle |
| First day, Sing-Sing, walkin through the gates |
| Stuff’s a shame, wild nigga walkin wit the length |
| We was cellblocked, think about, Flush want the top |
| Put my pictures up, relax for a minute, kick it up Watch the top cat, La Familia got the coke in that |
| I need a part in that, fine tango, just give 'em cash |
| Soup 'em up, make 'em feel wild as fuck, now what up? |
| I know my real family, new people try to be around me Try to surround me, goatee, ganja leaf |
| Locked up chief, well let that be Doorags and cuffies, gave me a razor, recruit me Now I’ll slang, and catch a band, til the bing |
| You workin in the kitchen, ice pick and now ya snitchin |
| You Scarface, lost ya face, is laced up So what, you got cut, then you told police |
| Keep it real in the beast, same thing in the streets |
| Wild cats tell, play PC inside a jail |
| Yo me, did three, never in PC |
| Stand freely, Musolini, we just a heemy |
| Life in exile, people like we, penitentiary |
| Did time, all evolve wit crime |
| Desert mind, police hit strip, caught mine |
| what, what, what, what, what, what |