| Uh uh, Uh, Uh
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| Ayo, mac 10s and fake friends
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| Lawyers little game homicide 25 with the fucking nigga face 'em
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| But I’m still trill, still holdin
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| Rollin gully until I’m froze, close in a box with embalming fluid
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| Veins pumpin ice
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| First some 15 keep that king pumping right
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| Hard white, cold cash
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| Hold fast, fold fast, through the city so gas
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| No ass
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| Straight head bitch, I’m one a from the feds
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| Fuck comma raps, same G and canna
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| All I got in this world is my fifth dick and honor
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| Gangsta mannerism lyrical vandalism
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| Niggas be burnin up their gums until the fucking hammers hit 'em
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| Who need help?
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| Well until then I’mma take that mac off the shelf
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| And hold the fucking street hostage
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| Blowing smoke out my nostril
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| Every breath is a step to a non-time in death
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| I wanna know where to go
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| Need a place in my mind I can rest
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| Cause this time is running out for my flesh
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| Dried up, sittin' in a chair fried up
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| You know me; |
| I don’t need no introduction in this
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| Big gun, big dick, half of a meal on the wrist
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| Sittin in my continental thinkin' about potential connects
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| I live in all, just pencil the best
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| Parts of the live of a quintessential hustler
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| When I pull a slide back
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| Motherfuckers be hoppin' their faces don’t get left open
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| You understand?
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| Shirt soaking, brain smoking left in the ocean floatin'
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| Shyne Po, dough, stack, y’all Rap niggas is trash
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| I don’t give a fuck how much records you sold
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| Tryin' to be me
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| Keep it real dog, you’ll die to be me
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| You wanna know how it feel, don’t you?
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| To have a murder charge, tote guns to the American Music Awards
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| And live life against stars
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| Doing 170 screaming «FUCK THE WORLD» (gangsta get outta the car)
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| Where the fuck them niggas at? |
| We gonna handle this beef
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| Turn your mic off bitch; |
| see me in the street
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| Fuck peace 'til I’m rest in the dried up flesh is finish
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| I don’t know how to tell until I’m in the morgue
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| Dysfunctional, highly uncomfortable paranoid
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| Without the extra clip (bitch), try me I’ll puncture you
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| Had niggas waking up with wings in their backs, halos in their head like
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| «Ayo I’m dead»
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| Canaanite fucking princess Diana type
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| Vane wives, vane light, pen I write cold, hand of ice
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| They said too much for the motor mind to comprehend
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| Walk wit me, pause take a breath
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| Things ain’t just the same for gangstas
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| Sleeping in diamond, it’s fucking up the game for gangstas
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| While charges tryin to arraign a gangsta
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| Through it all I maintain my gangsta |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Edge , by - Shyne. Song from the album godfather buried alive, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп